


Midnight Sun: Book One of the Taken by the Wind Series (Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening)

by theladygriff



Series: Rhiannon Cousland (DAO/Awakening Story) [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladygriff/pseuds/theladygriff
Summary: "It should be me. The single thought carries an incredible weight, yet it is freeing in the same instance. It should be me. All these months I have somehow known that this would not be survivable. That my life would likely be the price to pay. And I have accepted it without knowing. For Loghain to say that he ought to die instead, it unravels my entire future. It dismantles my understanding of myself and my purpose. I am not the person who rebuilds the Order in Ferelden. I am not the person that the future recruits look up to for guidance and wisdom. I am barely even a Warden now, after months of living as nothing else."Rhiannon Cousland faces the Archdemon, her loyal companions at her side. But after what feels like a lifetime of bargaining with and tempting fate, losing those she cares about and losing herself a little more each day, she begins to question what the meaning of a true hero is. She chose to save the man whom she has idolized since those comfortable days when she roamed the halls of Castle Cousland as a small, round-faced child. A man who betrayed his king and his kingdom. One dangerous decision after another. As she faces down the Horde, she wonders if she has done the right thing.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Loghain Mac Tir, Loghain Mac Tir/Female Warden
Series: Rhiannon Cousland (DAO/Awakening Story) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024108
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. A Warden for a Warden

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a slow burn Loghain fic. I will try and update regularly but I am working on several fics at the same time so I apologize in advance if the updates are irregular. Please let me know your thoughts of this story. I have read so many Loghain fics that make him out to be so dull and serious all the time (don't get me wrong, I have loved those stories all the same), but to me in the game he has been practical, stern, yet so sassy. I needed a fic with my beloved sassy Loghain Mac Tir. I hope I get it right. Enjoy!

The sky above Denerim transforms with the sunset, the blue sky washed with oranges and pinks as the sun lowers from view, passing behind the rooftops and the outer walls of the city. With the warmth of the day fading, I draw my cloak around me, pulling my aching legs up and wrapping my arms tightly around them. My body screams in resistance, all of my wounds from today’s fight still throbbing despite Wynne’s thorough healing spells.  
A long, shaken breath escapes my lips, a sign of my weariness and restless heart. So much has happened since I last watched the sunset from this balcony, despite the passing of a mere day. The world feels as though it has shifted, shaking me to my very core and tearing at whatever remaining happiness I have allowed myself these past months.  
When Duncan dragged me from my family home, kicking, screaming, and crying, I had thought myself void of everything. Happiness, hope, life. It all washed away that night when Rendon Howe slaughtered my family and took my home from me. Many months have passed since then, and I now have the peace of knowing that man is no longer within this world having cut his throat myself. But the pain and loneliness remain. Perhaps more bitter now that my revenge is sated.  
My friends. My companions. It is to them that I owe everything. They healed what they could of my heart and gave me purpose where there had been only doubt, regret, anger. The warmth of their loyalty and their friendship is what has kept me on this path and successfully driven me to here. The Landsmeet.  
I swallow hard against the nauseous churning of my stomach and my eyes flutter closed; the beauty of the sunset lost to me now as my heart threatens to shatter into a million pieces in my hands. The memories of what transpired in that hall are still so vivid, even now as I try to push them to the very corners of my mind.  
Head spinning, blood pounding, my world twists uncontrollably. I look down at him, his eyes cast downwards at my feet, defeat and shame written all over his dark, aging features. My heart trembles erratically to match my hands as I hold my blade to his throat, his black hair soaked in sweat and blood just like his silverite armour. His hand clutches the wounds on his torso, crimson covering them, soaking them. He is close to death, and yet there he remains, knelt at my feet before me, his ice blue eyes filled with hate and something that resembles a weariness unlike anything I have ever seen. His breathing matches mine, erratic and heavy, but it is not the physical exhaustion that I see reflected in those eyes, rather the fatigue of a soul, tired of the mortal world and seemingly glad to be within reach of release.  
The Hero of River Dane. That is what Ferelden knows him as. Teyrn Loghain to the Landsmeet that witnessed our fight to the death. Kingmaker. Traitor. The man who has spent months hunting me down, who has spared no effort to see me dead. And yet, as I look at him there before me, I feel nothing but pity for the man. The stark hate felt moments ago washed away by a long history of adoration and respect.  
As a child, a young girl who dreamed of one day becoming a fierce war maiden like the incredible and beautiful Queen Rowan, there was one famous warrior whom I had idolized above the rest. The stern-faced man I had seen immortalized in history books, portraits and in stone. The man whom I had encountered several times at the annual Landsmeets my father dragged me to more frequently as I grew older, hoping I might catch the eye of some lord and be married off in the summer. The man who was the father of an old friend of mine, the now Queen Anora, who had pleaded for her father’s life as I held his fate in my hands, my blade to the tender skin of his throat. To my child self Teyrn Loghain was a man of power, of heroics. Though his gaze was cold and his temper short, there had been moments of tenderness with Anora that had intrigued the heart of a young girl who witnessed them. A man who adored his daughter and would, despite the heavy frown on his brow and the proud set of his shoulders, spare a moment when passing in the corridors of the palace or in the gardens to offer a half-smile or some advice on a place to hide during our childish games, and how to hold my wooden sword so that I may better beat Fergus with it. The small smirks and sighed laughter hinting at his amusement at the children who did little more than torment the adults and earn rebuke from their parents. It was in moments like those, no matter how fleeting or far between, that I understood he was a man as all the others and a father all the same. Far from comparable to my own in duty and in temperament, but alike in his pride and hints of reflective admiration.  
Strong hands textured and hardened from a lifetime of wielding the sword and shield, slightly softened by latter years of quills and parchment. They had grasped my small, delicate hands with a slight hesitance, a deep frown wavering into something kinder for merely a moment.  
“Hold the blade like this, child.” His voice had been as I remembered it to be. Stern and blunt, bordering on exasperated, as though it were his constant duty to remind little children how to properly hold their swords. “There. Now when you land a blow, it will likely result in damage to your opponent, as opposed to rebounding and damaging yourself.”  
I had watched him with wide eyes, a lump in my throat forbidding me to speak, Anora beside her father smiling brightly at the kindness to a friend.  
“And what mighty warrior are you playing, girl?” He had asked, a dark brow raised, blue eyes shining with a guarded amusement. “Andraste? King Calenhad?”  
I shook my head, my words finally returning to me. “Queen Rowan, my Lord.”  
A smile. Barely the curve of one and in only the corner of his thin, drawn mouth, but a smile all the same. Shadowed by a moment of recollection, distant and all but forgotten.  
“Ah,” he had said as he rose to his feet, a hand petting his daughter softly on the top of her blonde head. “A war maiden, then. All the better.” And then he strode away, leaving behind renewed resolve. From that moment on I knew that was what I ought to be. A war maiden. Just like Queen Rowan. Like my mother. Anora might dream of marriage and Delilah of the peace of a home of her own, but neither fate would be my own.  
And as I lowered my blade from the teyrn’s throat, turning towards the Landsmeet gathered around us, and spoke the following words, I knew that my world would change. I did not know how much and the true extent of my losses, but I knew my own actions would require a kind of forgiveness baring some similarities to the forgiveness Loghain Mac Tir would likely forever be denied in this life, the kingdom and it’s people not capable of forgetting his betrayal at Ostagar.  
Alistair, the loudest voice of dispute in the hall and the friend I betrayed. The confusion in his typically soft and loving eyes quickly turned to hate, to a pleading disdain that nearly tore me apart in front of the man I had chosen to save. A warden for a warden. A deal I had not meant to make, but one I could not manage to undo. Alistair would be king, Loghain would become a Warden. The cruellest, most ironic trade in all of history, I think to myself now as the memories of today begin to seep back into the depths of my mind, burying themselves behind my fears and dread for the future.  
A door opens beside me, light footsteps approaching. I open my eyes and glance to meet the warm eyes of an old friend.  
Anora smiles softly, her beautiful features drawn and darkened much like those of her father. “Things have calmed down a little, Rhi.” Alistair. She means Alistair. “Riordan is looking for you. My father appears to have recovered from the Joining.”  
I swallow hard, eyes lowering away from her gaze with a mix of guilt and shame. The Joining had been successful. Loghain had fallen to the floor as I had when I drank from the goblet back in Ostagar. For a moment I was certain he would die, that I had betrayed Alistair for nothing. I held my breath, and then those icy blue eyes had opened, and he had roared in pain, wakening to the world as a Warden.  
“Thank you.” Anora’s tone is low and stern, as though she is fighting against herself to say those words. I have known her for as long as I can remember and cannot recall a single time that I have heard those two words come from her mouth.  
I meet her eyes again, breathing a sigh and forcing the faintest, weakest of smiles onto my aching face. “Yes, well, he better be worth it.” Cold words to the daughter of the man in question, perhaps, but Anora has never been a delicate flower. She understands what her father has done yet had begged me to spare him. Threatened, bargained. Anora who is proud and dignified, the Queen of Ferelden. A daughter who loves her father enough to push aside those things to barter with his enemy. Strong, intelligent, determined, brave. Two of a kind. Father and daughter.  
“He will be,” she says with a confident smile, her airs returning within a blink of the eye. And she is the queen again.  
Anora leaves me then, my eyes drawn back across the city to the last remnants of light on the horizon. The day is done. The Landsmeet concluded. I close my eyes one final time and pray that tomorrow brings with it something brighter. It is not so much to the Maker that I direct my pleas, rather towards the memory of my mother and father that lingers within my crumbling heart. I know the dead are gone, taken to the Maker’s side or wherever the dead go. But I cannot help but feel as though they linger, peering over my shoulder now and then and whispering wisdom and support into my ear when I need it most. A silly thought, really, but one that brings me great comfort in the dark, cold loneliness of this world.  
Rising to my feet, I wince at the pain that shoots through my body. I remind myself to ask Wynne for a potion before I retire, and possibly something heavy and blunt from Oghren that might knock me into a senseless, unhindered sleep. But for now, I should find Riordan. We have a Blight to end.


	2. Words and Self-Righteous Pride

Darkness fills my dreams, blood and darkspawn consuming reality and fantasy alike, twisting my perceptions of time and understanding. More often than not these dreams feel like reality, more real to me than my waking hours and sometimes less terrifying. Darkspawn are darkspawn. Twisted creatures who serve a singular purpose and will kill you should they have the chance. The hearts of men are rarely so simple, rarely what they appear. It seems reasonable to me that I should fear my fellow humans more than the dark creatures from beneath the ground. Perhaps that is the pragmatic in me, or perhaps I am not pragmatic at all and rather a stupid, naïve young girl who ought to think as others do.  
I wake from the nightmare as I do most nights, covered in a thick layer of sweat and gasping for air, only to be smothered by the indoors and the confines of a stranger’s home. I hurry for the window, pushing it open and marvelling as the early morning air surrounds me, filling my lungs with the faintest sensation of freedom and simplicity. But the feeling is washed away by the sounds of the city beyond Arl Eamon’s estate, the constant reminder that I am not where I wish I was, separated from the openness of the world by thick stone walls and the mundane of city life.  
The hour is too early for even the servants, the sun barely peaking on the horizon, and so I wash myself with what water is left from the night before, don my armour and depart my borrowed chamber in search of refuge in the training yard.  
There are no guards or soldiers to be seen beyond the odd patrol as they pass on their way, glancing briefly to me as I swing my blades about, slicing a practice dummy in a flurry of frantic and clumsy attacks. My mind is elsewhere, my heart still caught somewhere between here and Highever. Nothing feels natural today, my body is rigid, my mind clouded and closed off. No matter how many times my foot slides where I wish it would not, or my balance wavers and I have to correct myself, cursing under my breath, I do not allow myself to rest, to walk away and seek out my thoughts through a prayer or a pint of ale like another might. My blades have been my refuge for the better part of my life. The precise movements, the skilled hands and fingers that manoeuvre them in ways that can gut the enemy effortlessly or slice a throat in an instant.  
Fergus had laughed at my choice of weapons all those years ago. Sword and shield were his preference, much like many of the soldiers I had seen in my short life at that point. The only other option seemed to be the bow, and I had not the patience for it. The midst of battle is where my desires resided. A bow seemed dull and boring in comparison to a frontal attack. And so had the sword and shield. It seemed strange to me to waste a perfectly good arm on a defence when the legs might serve just as well. Movement, light and smooth, determined to stay out of reach and out of sight. Blind spots, weaknesses, moving like the wind.  
The practice dummy sheds a chunk of stuffing following an aggressive swing that mirrors one of the final blows that had been the difference between my defeat and victory during the Landsmeet the day before. Stronger than my usual attack, fuelled with a cocktail of emotions that range from hate to disgust to grief. A twisting pain in the chest, like having your insides taken in hand, then wrung like a piece of cloth in a wash basin. Confusing, brutal, infuriating.  
Another clump of hay drops to the ground, the practice dummy all but surrendering under my sloppy, violent strikes. I have no desire to destroy it with no desire to have to apologize to anyone for it, so I sheath my blades, my breathing laboured and rasping, my body quivering from a mixture of rage and exhaustion. My chest is tight, though freer than it had been when I began.  
“You are impressive.” A voice from behind me draws my attention, my back straightening and chin lifting when I recognize the dark, aging features and broad shoulders. He stands almost leisurely, resting a shoulder against a column, a deep-set expression of mockery and disgust on his drawn face to match his tone. “I pity the dummy. Though I am certain it had it coming. There is nothing quite like your wrath. All bound up and brutally executed. Bravo.”  
My jaw clenches and brow narrows, caught between wounded and infuriated by his obvious mockery and pointed remarks. I do not know whether I ought to feel as conflicted as I am, unsure what to make of this confusing mixture of hate and idolization. One threatens to wash away the other at any given moment. This wall I erected between us when I faced him at the Landsmeet appears the only method of control in keeping my emotions in check. To have lived a lifetime thinking this man a walking god; it brings me both shame and heartbreak. Dreams washed away, understanding shattered. Though the blame rests with me for having conjured up such falsehoods, I blame him for having led me astray. For having led Ferelden astray.  
Right now, with those icy blue eyes tearing into me across the yard, it is my disdain that threatens to outbalance the rest and I must fight for my will to control it. A year ago, when I was nothing more than the pampered nobleman’s daughter that I had been, I might have faced down Loghain with arrogance, worn him down with back-handed insults and attacked his pride. But that girl died in the halls of Castle Cousland. Her bite and resolve washed away through the tears she shed in the days and weeks to follow. What remains is a voice of reason, a voice of justice and practicality. I did not raise an army having been open to whim and theatrics. I raised an army through sheer will and compromise. It is because of that change that I spared this man at all. Perhaps there is a part of me that could not bear to end the life of her idol, but that part is pushed behind that wall I have built, better left for dead in the weeks and months to come.  
I turn to face Loghain fully, prepared to face him down. I have little desire to prove my worth to him for I know what little value he has on my life. The lies, the assassins, the sheer determination to have me killed. I have not forgotten those things. For whatever man I had thought him before all this, there is remarkably little left of him, if it truly were there to begin with.  
“Save me your back-handed praises, old man,” I say icily, my emotions still swirling within me, barely under check. “You live because I allowed it.”  
He snorts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, leaning deeper against the stone, unaffected and perhaps amused by my words. “You speak as though it were my desire to remain alive at all, Warden.” My title is like acid on his tongue, twisted with a dark humour that is far more threatening than my own weak insult had been. “Rather, I find it quite the nuisance to remain on this damned earth. But it would seem I am to have the extended pleasure as a mortal man, now bound to an order I had thought to destroy. How wonderfully ironic. I suppose you think it a poetic justice. A means to make this old man suffer. I cannot decide whether to laugh or grovel on my knees and beg the Maker’s forgiveness.”  
The brutal sarcasm in Loghain’s tone takes me aback. Such an endlessly dark and serious man, prone to one-line remarks to belittle lesser men on only select few occasions. It is unnerving to be so targeted. As though those eyes and words are more dangerous than his sword arm. In many ways, I know it to be the truth. This is a man who is capable of so much more than just cutting me down with the swing of a blade. That is why I chose to spare him. The very reason he still lives and underwent the Joining. He is a resource. Valuable. But the way those eyes glance over me, seeing right through me, is unsettling and equal parts infuriating. It is not my nature to take kindly to mockery and I have never shied away from a challenge.  
“If it is forgiveness you seek, then I shall tell you that I have none to give, nor is it mine to even offer.” Despite my pounding heart and sweating palms, I hold his gaze, those blue eyes piercing into me. “Your actions, your betrayal. I am not certain such things can and should be forgiven. What I have offered is a chance of atonement, or at the very least a sentence of sorts. What you make of it is your decision, Loghain Mac Tir. But should you wish to challenge me, let it be known that I will face you. We both serve a higher purpose now and are bound to the Order. Like it or not, your life is mine. And we shall do our duty.”  
I hold those cold eyes a moment longer, drawing my strength from the depths of me to hold his gaze with pride, with reason. What I said is the truth. I do not know if he should be forgiven. He has proven himself a villain and shows no hints of regret or guilt. His crimes cost his beloved kingdom so much and nearly destroyed her. He claimed at the Landsmeet to have done it all for Ferelden, and yet it feels little more than an excuse.  
I wipe my sweat covered palms on my trousers. Unable to hold his intense gaze any longer, I begin past him, determined to soak away my worries in a hot bath back in my chamber.  
“A child.” The words are barely more than a mumble as I pass by him. “What do you know of duty?”  
I pause just past him, by the door that leads into the estate. “A great deal more than I might have locked away in my family’s castle.” My teeth grind as I speak as I try to fight down my emotions. He wounds me, but I would rather not let him see it. “It is I that you sent assassins after. It is I that killed your soldiers that you sent after me and who tried to hinder me. It is I that rallied the people of Ferelden against you and against the Blight. It is I that shall face down the Archdemon, with you at my heel. Whatever your faults, you are not a fool. Do not mistake me for one.”  
Another derisive snort. “A child,” he repeats, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “So, am I your prisoner then? Your slave? The sword you wield whenever your whim demands it?”  
I glance over my shoulder at him, grey eyes narrowing. “You serve the Wardens, Loghain. Your life serves the Blight. My whims hold little regard for the wrongs you have committed, but practicality told me that I need you. Say what you will about me, but I am nothing but aware of the advantage you will bring in the days, months, perhaps years to come. That is the reason for your life.”  
He eyes me steadily, eyes holding mine for a long moment before they draw away and he smirks. “Bryce’s little spitfire. How amusing. I see more of your mother in you. Words and self-righteous pride.” He sighs. “Very well, Warden. Do with me what you will. My life is forfeit now. My sword arm is yours. What else I can offer as well. It is certain I cannot fall any lower and dignity went out the window long ago.” His tone has softened the slightest and his eyes, now fixated on something across the yard, bear the tiniest hint of those unbridled emotions I had seen within them as he knelt before me following his defeat at the Landsmeet.  
I swallow down whatever potential for sympathy might threaten to arise at the pitiful sight of him. I cannot afford any regrets. So, I turn my head away. “Good.” And I disappear through the door into the estate, this time determined to lose myself in the depths of a hot bath, preferably undisturbed.


	3. The Pragmatic Warden

A messenger arrives at breakfast the following morning with a letter from the queen. Arl Eamon leans into my confidence to inform me that Anora requests that we attend a meeting at the palace before luncheon to plan the march to Redcliffe where we shall meet with the rest of the army to face the darkspawn horde.  
I nod my understanding, my barely noteworthy appetite diminished in an instant. From across the table I catch the eye of the newest warden, his heavy brow set deep as it seems to permanently be.  
A sigh escapes my lips and I push aside my plate of untouched food. The sinking feeling that has plagued me since the Landsmeet has yet to dull, and neither have the nagging questions in my head asking me if what I did was truly the right thing. Saving Loghain seemed the rational solution, but the cost has been immense. Losing Alistair has taken a toll on me. Someone who had trusted me completely now thinks of me as the enemy. And it was because of my own actions. It was I that made that decision. I could have heeded his threats to leave and changed my mind. I could have killed Loghain and kept the man who once told me he loved me.  
Nauseated by my own hopeless emotions, I excuse myself from the table, the eyes of my companions on me as I make for the door of the dining hall. Wynne catches my eyes for the briefest moment, a mix of distrust and sympathy within their aged depths. It has not escaped my notice that it is not only Alistair who was blindsided by my decision. My companions have yet to understand the motives for it and I have done little to explain it to them. I am unsure whether an explanation would sate them anyway. The way their unhindered trust has transformed into cautious glances tells me that I have lost their devotion. Whatever understanding we had before is gone.  
Entering the small office Arl Eamon had prepared for me, I rummage through a pile of maps for one of Ferelden, flattening it out on the desk before me, pinning down the edges with books. Glancing over the landscape drawn, trailing the roads and rivers with my eyes, I see a kingdom in ruin and chaos, and a kingdom I feel as though I have betrayed.  
I sigh heavily, wishing this rising guilt and shame would disappear and leave me be. I have made some difficult decisions in the past months, some requiring heavy sacrifices with dire consequences, but I have always tried to let my conscience guide me. To do the right thing and save lives where possible. To me, saving Loghain seemed the rational thing to do. A man with so much experience with strategy, politics, and combat, he is an ideal recruit. Against the horde and the Archdemon, I need all the aid I can get. I had thought my friends would understand that. That Alistair might. But I was wrong.  
“You have so little trust in yourself, Rhi.”  
I glance up to the door where Leliana stands, a gentle smile on her lips. She enters the room slowly, or perhaps cautiously, and stands across the desk from me, eyes lowering the map between us.  
“I heard that you are to meet with the Queen today. It would seem we are to begin final preparations.”  
I nod, eyes low and unable to meet hers when they seek mine again. “It would seem so.”  
Leliana eyes me for a long while, seeking something within my posture or silence that is unknown to me. “He is a serious man, that Loghain,” she says, tone light-hearted and thoughtful. “I tried to speak with him yesterday and his only answers were grunts or mockery. What a charming fellow.”  
A sigh escapes my lips and I lower myself into the chair behind me, thumbs digging into my temples in circles. “It is not his charm, or lack of, that will decide our fate. He can be bitter all he likes, but I need him to face the Archdemon.”  
Leliana smiles softly, aware of my mood and, as always, unwilling to leave me to wallow in it. “Ever the pragmatic warden. But I understand. He does seem to know a great deal about most things. I might think him wise if I did not think it more likely arrogance.” She pauses at my small smirk. “I understand why you spared him. Arl Eamon is a politician. This is a war. The Landsmeet was where his assistance proved useful, and now you have found yourself someone better suited to guide in what is to come next. You are wise, Rhi. You ought not to doubt yourself as you do.”  
Meeting her eyes again I feel my walls crumbling a little. Those hidden emotions seeping through the cracks and bearing themselves in front of a dear friend.  
“It is not so much the doubt that burdens me, rather the price I paid.”  
Sympathy fills her eyes, sparkling through the dully lit room. “I know. But Alistair made his choice, as you did. His wounds were deep. Give him some time.”  
I slump in my seat, defeat threatening to get the better of me. “He will not forgive me, Leliana, and I will not ask him to. If the positions were reversed, I do not think I would be able to.”  
Leliana rounds the desk to kneel in front of me, her soft hands taking mine. “Rhiannon, you are one of kindest people I have ever met. And one of the most forgiving. Alistair knows these things. He will come around.”  
I swallow down the sudden welling of emotions, tears stinging my eyes. I want to thank her for her confidence in me and the kindness she continues to show me, despite my many mistakes and regrets. But my words fail me. Instead she holds my gaze, her smile warming my aching heart. And then she rises to her feet and departs the room, closing the door softly behind her.


	4. A Fool Never Doubts

Climbing the stairs into the palace, I can feel the eyes on my back as I follow Arl Eamon. I glance over my shoulder to find Loghain frowning at me, unaffected by my discomfort and the questioning look in my eyes. He has spoken little more than a few words to me since our confrontation in the training yard and I am thankful for it. My temper remains heated and I think it would be too difficult for me to hold my tongue against the many things I wish to say to him. The many threats I have made in his direction within the confines of my own mind.  
We are escorted through the palace by guards, passing by servants and nobility alike. All of which stare at us as we pass, or rather at my fellow warden as he follows behind me. Where I had received praise and welcome mere days ago, today I feel like a complete outsider. A criminal of sorts.  
Arl Eamon is guided into the throne room ahead of us, having requested a moment to speak with those gathered in private in an attempt to lessen the impact that having a traitor such as Loghain present.  
The tall, broad figure of the man in question appears beside me, large arms crossing casually over his chest, a hint of amusement in his eyes.  
“You are a fascinating woman. I had thought to be kept in a cage and spoken to only when necessary. And yet you parade me, the traitor, around Denerim and the palace as though I were a prize.” His expression may hint at his amusement, but his tone is as level and stern as it always is.  
I stifle a sigh. “I am not parading you around anywhere, Loghain. You are here to serve your purpose. We are to march to war. I would have your experience at the table when the plans are discussed.”  
He eyes me a moment, a dark eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “And you think these lords would listen to a thing I say?”  
I nod. “You represent the Wardens and myself. They have little choice.”  
His eyes move to the hall where we came from as though making sure none of the hateful stares have followed us. “To these people I represent fear and suffering, just as I always have. A reminder of troubled times. You would be foolish to think me an ally.”  
I turn to him then, my arms crossing to mimic his own imposing stance. “Are you not my ally?”  
He snorts, eyes meeting mine. “Am I to be?”  
“I thought I made it clear yesterday that I have no need for a prisoner. You are a warden, just as I am.”  
“And you would trust me so easily? Because I drank from a damned cup and am suddenly your brother?” It is obvious by the twisting of his mouth that the last word tastes bitter.  
“Trust has nothing to do with it. I do not offer it to anyone who does not earn it.”  
A sigh and a shift in posture tells me that this conversation is boring Loghain as much as it is infuriating me.  
“So, you would have me earn it?”  
Now it is my turn to sigh. I turn away from him, directing my frown back at the door where Arl Eamon disappeared through. “I would have you do your duty.”  
Loghain gives a curt laugh at that, barely distinguishable from his snorts of irritated disapproval. “Your infatuation with duty is most exasperating.”  
“It is not an infatuation. It is a purpose.”  
“It is a little girl who has read too many fairy tales thinking she knows anything of the true meaning.” His tone turns menacing, blue eyes darkening until they are almost black. “You speak as though you understand the world, as all you young ones do. False inherited wisdom from parents and grandparents who fought in a war you could not comprehend. Fancy words and neatly woven sentences might work on your friends and allies, Warden, but they are lost on me. Speak plainly and prove your worth. You fight well enough, but you are naïve, irrational.”  
My blood boils and I turn to him abruptly. “I defeated you, did I not? And all of those men you sent after me.”  
“Stupid fools are in abundance, but we do not face more of the same. We face an Archdemon and a Blight. Spinning blades and snide comments will not serve you in the battles to come.”  
“I have no intention in striking up a conversation with the Archdemon,” I reply curtly, less irritated by his comments and more in agreement with them than I had anticipated. “But you need not worry. When the time comes, I will do as I must. All I ask is that you do the same. It is all I ask of anyone. And whether that will serve to end this Blight, only time will tell.”  
Blue eyes watch me as my own remain on the door ahead. Loghain is silent for a moment, considering all that I have said. Finally, he sighs and adjusts his arms over his chest. “You are correct. You are not a fool. A fool never doubts.”  
My eyes meet his, wide in disbelief at his words. I had not expected a compliment, or whatever understanding we just achieved.  
“I believe we are more alike than I thought, Warden. I admit I am glad to be proven wrong. Very well, then. But I would know one more thing.”  
The sudden transformation of his expression and tone take me off guard. For all the hostility, I had expected an understanding to be harder fought. This, right now, is the man I remember from my childhood that knelt down in the corridor and corrected my hold on a blade. The one who had praised his daughter for her wit and scolded her justly when she spoke out of turn. A heavy presence with nerves of steel, wisdom beyond his years, and yet a compassion and satisfaction found in the mundane.  
When I do not speak, there is a hint of annoyance in his face and he continues. “Am I to be a voice in this? Or am I to speak only when spoken to?”  
“You have a voice, Loghain. Feel free to use it. But remember what I have worked for. And as your senior warden, you will heed my guidance.”  
His nod is brief. “As you say.”  
The silence that follows is less antagonistic than the previous had been. I find myself relaxing under the new understanding between us. For all that has gone horribly wrong in recent days, this is the one victory I have been allowed. Loghain is still Loghain. A traitor and my former enemy. Those wounds will not heal so easily, but I feel, even for a moment, that perhaps the choice I made was the right one.  
When the door eventually creaks open, I take in a deep breath and square my shoulders, meeting Loghain’s eyes for a brief moment before stepping forward. I pray that this meeting goes well and that the army will be mobilized quickly. This Blight will not end itself.


	5. For the Good of Ferelden

With several important matters remaining before Queen Anora and Arl Eamon can ride for Redcliffe, it is decided that my companions and I should make the journey ahead of them to oversee the final stages of preparation, and to secure the area in advance. Reports of the horde have been scattered and confused with some reporting it to be still well within the south, while others say it has moved into the Hinterlands. Which reports to believe is beyond the other leaders and I, so it becomes apparent that we must act as soon as possible to avoid any complications.  
The night is mostly a sleepless one, with whatever brief moments of rest that are afforded me filled with darkness and horrors. I wake well before sunrise and double, then triple check my bags to ensure that I have all that I need. It is entirely possible that I may never see Denerim again, let alone return to the arl’s estate. I ensure I have all that is mine before we depart.  
With the first light of sunrise on the distant horizon, I gather my things and depart my borrowed chamber. Clad in my silverite plate and leather armour, swords on my hip, I make my way through the estate and to the courtyard where my companions have begun to gather. It feels like a lifetime since I was last outside the city walls, roaming the freedom of the kingdom with my companions, despite it being mere weeks ago in reality. So much has changed. And where I once saw Alistair’s eager face awaiting me, I am now met by the stern frown of Loghain where he leans against the bannister of the stone steps. He offers a simple nod to me as I pass him.  
I am met by my Mabari hound, Hero, who almost tramples me with his greeting leap, tongue eagerly seeking my face. I do my best to keep him at arm’s length, my pack falling to the ground heavily. Arl Eamon had requested Hero be kept in the kennels during our stay at the estate and I admit the time apart has pained me greatly. Hero has been my closest companion for seven years since my father gifted him to me for my eighteenth nameday.  
“Maker have I missed you, boy,” I coo as I pet his eager head. “Ready to get back out there? Yes? As am I.” He barks happily in agreement.  
Glancing around at my friends as they gather together their things, I feel a sense of belonging, laced with the bitterness of all that has transpired in recent days. These are my people, no matter what they think of me right now. They are my friends, and they mean the world to me. It is for them that I fight as I do. To protect them, to protect the kingdom we call home. Even if they do not know what to make of me now, they ought to know what I do is for the sake of us all.  
I hope Alistair will understand that someday.  
Oghren is the last of my companions to join us having been practically dragged from his bed by Zevran and Leliana. With our group complete, we make for the gate.  
“What a reliable group of companions you lead, Warden.” Loghain’s low voice at my side startles me as we enter the streets of Denerim. I glance over at him to find him matching my pace, despite his far greater height and larger steps. Adorned in his silverite armour and armed with his sword and shield, he is every bit the warrior I read about as a child. I had seen him fight in tourneys before, but never in true combat until the Landsmeet, and I had been too preoccupied with staying alive to admire how regal he looked, armed and proud as he is. I admit it is quite the sight. Intimidating and awe inspiring. Even in the dull light of the early sunrise.  
“They are loyal,” I reply, averting my eyes when I realize I have been staring at him for much too long. “And they are skilled at what they do. That is enough for me.”  
Loghain scoffs. “And when they sleep through the battle, will you praise them on their loyalties then? They lack basic discipline. Anyone with an eye could see that, and anyone without could hear it in their tone. The Antivan had much to say at supper. Most of it crude, laced with empty threats. Delightful entertainment and not at all enough to put me off my meal.”  
I find myself smiling despite the clear irritation in his voice. “Zevran. And yes, that is just who he is. I would say that you get used to it, but the truth is quite the opposite. I consider myself not easily unnerved, but some of the stories he has told me have been quite…unique. And that is not even mentioning the assassination ones.”  
A laugh. A small one that barely reaches my ear, but it is there. Brief and unexpected, and hidden behind an equally as fleeting smirk.  
“You recognize him, do you not?”  
Loghain sighs and nods. “I did, but I could not say from where. He made sure to enlighten me. I see you have a habit of turning your enemies into your allies. Admirable, but potentially unwise.”  
I give a simple shrug. “It has worked for me until now. In truth, I have had little choice. Between being hunted down like a dog and everything wanting to kill me, my options were limited. He seemed useful. I did not want to waste his talent.”  
Loghain nods, his lips pressed together tightly. “Strangely I feel less exceptional now. Not quite the special case I thought myself to be.” His tone is riddled with sarcasm. “I cannot say that I do not agree with you, however. To waste talents is to disadvantage yourself. You have made resources from what you were given. A lesser fool would have given into spite and chosen the path of greater difficulty.”  
“Is revenge foolish?”  
He eyes me coolly. “It is.”  
“What of justice?”  
“What is justice? For every one villain, there are a thousand more. Is justice beneficial? Do you gain from it?”  
I nod. “I certainly did. Killing Rendon Howe did not bring my family back, but I removed an evil from the world, nonetheless. He cannot hurt another. For that alone it was worth it.”  
“Then you have answered your own question, girl.” Loghain’s eyes find the main gate of Denerim as we approach it, the people of the city only now stirring from their homes.  
As we pass through the gate, I feel my heart sink to my feet as I reflect on my conversation with Loghain moments ago. I had taken the life of my enemy, the man who took my family and home from me. The man who I swore to kill, whom I vowed to end with my own hands. And yet, I had denied the same to my best friend. He had supported me through all I did, comforted me when I was lost and alone. He helped heal me, and I took away his own revenge, his own moment of justice.  
Ahead of me my companions chat amongst themselves as they begin down the road and away from the city. Loghain trails behind them, Hero circling him cautiously, still unsure what to make of our newest addition. I watch them for a moment, catching a glimpse of Loghain as he reaches out a hand for Hero to scent, the smallest of smiles pulling at the corner of his mouth.  
“This is different,” I whisper to myself. “Loghain is different.” Rendon Howe was a monster who deserved death. What remained of Howe was nothing but a void of hate and evil. Father told me of the man he was before the war and the change that came of it. While the details were avoided, there had been a moment where something shifted. The Howe I remember from my childhood was a cold man, but never cruel. It is as though something else shifted later on. For all that Loghain has done and for his lack of regret, his belief is that what he did was for the good of Ferelden. To save lives, not to destroy them. However misguided he was in his actions, he meant well. That is the difference.


	6. He Is Not Your Friend

The day is long and tiring as we force a steady pace. With the horde’s location unknown, we cannot be sure of our safety and so the idea of remaining out in the open as we are has us pressing on towards Redcliffe eagerly. Our rest stops are brief and few, but eventually, as the sun sets rapidly on the horizon, we are forced to find a place to camp, hidden away from the main road in a small meadow surrounded by trees.  
As I assemble my own tent, I find myself glancing over to Loghain where he rolls out his bedroll under the open sky. The rest of us made sure to pack a proper tent in case of rain, and yet he seems perfectly content to sleep under the stars. Hero is there, noticeably going between myself and Loghain, nose to the ground and ears perked. All day he has kept close watch on Loghain, still undecided on what to make of him.  
A small smile tugs at the corner of mouth. It seems to me that inviting your enemy into your party should be a difficult transition, and yet Loghain seems to have slid into place neatly. While our companions continue with their suspicious glances and steer clear of Loghain entirely, the man himself appears oddly at home. For someone who has spent decades within the comforts of castles, there is a familiarity between him and the wilderness that is apparent in his frame that has relaxed over the course of the day. The way his eyes often find the sky above and the horizon far away, how he inhaled deeply and wandered off during our rest stops to glance a view of the world around us or to examine a tree or shrub. There is a curious serenity within him that I had not expected to see. Especially so openly.  
“Do not let his demeanour fool you, Rhiannon.” Wynne’s voice beside me startles me and I turn to her to see her frowning down at me. “It is simple enough to hide your true nature when you are as clever as he. He hid himself from Cailan. I beg you do not forget what he has done.”  
My eyes return to the final knot of my tent and I rise to my feet, Wynne’s pleading tone eating at the uncertain emotions within me. What she says is the truth, I understand that as much as anyone. And yet, her crude dismissal irritates me somewhat. I admire Wynne for all she is, and her guidance has been irreplaceable these past months, but there are times when her short-sighted morals have caused disagreements between us. This is one of those times.  
“I am not forgetting what he did, Wynne, but he is serving his punishment.”  
Wynne’s frown is disapproving, and I can see in her eyes that she has much she would say on my definition of punishment, but she holds it back. Instead she crosses her arms. “He is not redeemable, Rhiannon. He should not be treated as such. You would be wise to keep your guard up with him. He is not your friend.”  
I sigh and pull open the flap to my tent, tossing my pack and bedroll inside. “I am not asking for a friend, Wynne. I need a warden. One that can stand beside me against the Archdemon and offer me guidance. That is why he is here.”  
Wynne eyes me a moment longer before she too sighs and her expression and posture relax. “I understand. Just please be careful. We all care for you a great deal. We worry because we want to keep you safe.”  
I smile warmly, relieved at the confirmation that my friends have my back, despite having distanced themselves from me in recent days. “I know. Thank you, Wynne. I do not deserve any of you.”  
Leliana helps me prepare supper while Loghain disappears into the trees with a bow in search of small game and wood. As soon as he disappears from view, it as though the entire camp breathes a sigh of relief.  
Zevran sits beside the firepit with Hero at his side, detailing one of his many adventures to the Mabari who watches him with a tilted head.  
Oghren’s snores can be heard from his tent where he passed out some time ago, requesting to be awoken for supper.  
Morrigan keeps to herself as she always does, having set up her own tent as far away as practical. She still remains lost within the tome taken from Flemeth’s hut. Sten is seated by the fire in silence, his sword at his side, eyes fixated on the flames before him. I have always admired his ability to simply shut down his mind like he does. To sit so peacefully for so long, barely moving and barely blinking. It is serene to witness. I envy it.  
Wynne retired to bed early tonight, worn from the walking, her aging body continuing to degrade. I asked her about her spirit, and she had simply smiled and touched my arm, promising that all she needed was some sleep.  
“I have missed the open skies.” Leliana’s whimsical tone pulls me from my thoughts as I frown deeply at the potato I peel with learned precision. She smiles at me when my eyes meet hers, then looks up at the stars above us. “There is something so peaceful about the wilderness that soothes the soul.”  
A smile tugs at my lips. “Aside from the likelihood of being unknowingly within the path of the horde, I have to agree. I have always been fond of the outdoors. The forest in particular. Denerim, for all its convenience, is a smothering place.”  
Zevran lets out a long, reminiscent sigh, leaning back on his hands and smiling at nothing in particular. “I rather like the city. So much to see and so many fascinating faces. The wilds offer little aside from uninspiring silence and endless creepy crawlies.”  
I snort softly, earning a smile from Zevran. “Of course you would think that.”  
He chuckles, a familiar warmth in his eyes that I have not seen since before the Landsmeet. “What can I say, I am a man of certain tastes.”  
“Specifically, women and wine,” I add to complete his sentence.  
He smirks. “Indeed.” Then his expression turns forlorn and he sighs once again. “Ah, such cruelty. The wilds are severely lacking in both.”  
Leliana and I share a small laugh.  
“In case you get any ideas tonight, my tent is off limits, Zev.”  
Zevran smiles wickedly. “Alas, I am frightfully aware of that, my dear warden. A pity. I have many delightful ideas on how we could ease that burden of yours.”  
The night is spent much like this; filled with familiar chatter and friendly banter. I find myself smiling more tonight than I have in a long time. Mostly it is relief that my friends have not forsaken me. While there is a lingering shadow over our heads, there remains an essence of what we were before the Landsmeet, when we were simply us, simply companions and friends in the wilds, doing our bit to fight our enemies and forge alliances. Those had been long, difficult months, yet I can think of so many wonderful moments that made it all worthwhile. Shared jokes by the firepit, learning to cook and critiquing each other’s efforts, sharing stories of our pasts, and dreaming of the future. Tonight, it feels almost as it did then. But there is one noticeable hole in the picture. The empty spaces where Alistair’s tent might have occupied, and the place by the fire where he would have sat and endlessly tormented us with his childish humour. Instead, I see an unfamiliar bedroll and feel the weighted absence of our newest companion as I wonder where he might be and how long his being gone might be considered reasonable and not suspicious.  
My eyes lower to the boiling pot of stew on the fire as Leliana stirs it an announces supper to the camp. And when, as we are finishing our meal, Loghain reappears, all the calm is gone in an instant. The moment his broad figure emerges from the tree line, two rabbits hanging from his shoulder and freshly gathered wood under his arm, my companions disperse with barely a word and I am reminded that all is not as well as I wish it to be.


	7. A Twisted Sense of Humour

Darkness churns, like a nothingness in my stomach that is all consuming and that threatens to draw me into the depths of the Void without so much as a sound. My entire body resists, desperation tensing every muscle. I might have screamed if my body had allowed it, but to fight could risk losing myself to the darkness entirely. And so I bite my tongue, will myself to be strong against this ancient voice in my head, the low rumble of chanted words with no known meaning to my young, fresh warden senses.  
I awake so violently that I sit upwards on my bedroll, gasping for air and hands fumbling around in the darkness as though confirming that I am back in my tent and not still consumed by my nightmare.  
My eyes adjust to the dimness of the space around me and the flickering flames from the firepit outside draw my attention. Leliana and Zevran are on second watch, Loghain and I having taken the first. The silence during those hours had been deafening. I was thankful when it came time to wake the others and crawl into bed.  
I sigh, my will to sleep dashed by the lingering darkness in the back of my mind that I have come to know as the horde’s taunting voice, and the unsettling reality that today I must face those same feelings of guilt and shame from the day before.  
Wrapping myself in my cloak, I step out of my tent and into the cold, morning air. There is a hint of spring this morning, marked by a calm breeze and a scent in the air that smells of flowers and the beginnings of warmth.  
Leliana and Zevran are visible from their places at either side of the camp. Both offer smiles and nods of varied enthusiasm when they see me. I tend to the fire, replacing small logs and shuffling around the aches with a long stick. Birds chirp in the trees around us and I know that the sun will rise within the hour. We ought to prepare to depart.  
In his bedroll, Loghain tosses about restlessly, grunts and groans filling the quiet morning air. The way his arms flail now and then, the way his dark brow is pulled together and up in a mixture of terror and confusion. I know those signs so well. They are my own sleepless nights reflected in the dim firelight. Reflections of Alistair on the bedroll beside me, whimpers, and fearful pleas enough to make my heart break for him a little more each time.  
As I look away, Loghain sits upwards suddenly, dark eyes darting around the camp, searching and yet seeing nothing at all. He frowns, focuses his mind, then his eyes meet mine.  
Hero, who had been peacefully asleep by the firepit, now watches Loghain with a tilted head. He has witnessed such ordeals from Alistair and I, and yet he seems surprised to find another human plagued by such things.  
I reach out a hand to pet Hero’s head. “It is the Archdemon,” I say, my voice breaking through the quiet of the campsite to Loghain. “The horde, it shares what you might call a hive mind of sorts. They whisper through the Taint and we wardens are able to hear the edges of it. Some nights it is louder than others. Some days it is so loud you can hear it even whilst awake.” I meet his eyes again to find him sneering and rubbing his face with his hands. “Another joyful detail the legends left out.”  
Loghain scoffs and drops his hands into his lap. “This job just keeps getting better and better.”  
I smile a little at that. “Yes, well, it has its perks, I suppose. The excuse to endlessly kill darkspawn is probably my favourite. That never gets old.”  
A small laugh that sounds more like a sigh. “Believe me, when you get to my age it does some days.”  
I tilt my head slightly. “I fully intend to die before then. Preferably in some glorious way. I always have felt like old age never suited me.”  
Loghain eyes me a moment, a faint amusement in his expression. “You and I both, and yet here I am refusing to die decently. Life is strange and has a twisted sense of humour.”  
Leliana’s approaching footsteps draw our attention. She comes to stand by the fire, glancing uneasily at Loghain, before turning her attention to me. “Another uneventful night, Rhi. But I think we should pull up camp soon. The sun is beginning to rise.”  
She is right. There is the faintest lightening on the horizon, beyond the tree line.  
I nod and rise to my feet. “Agreed. We ought to wake everyone then.”


	8. Bloody Fools

It is late in the afternoon when the skies begin to cloud over, and the sunlight seems to dim. A foreboding feeling weaves itself around the group as we continue towards Redcliffe. As we push along the road westward, I find myself praying that the rain holds off. I can think of no worse issue to deal with ahead of war than a downpour. Faced with so many uncertainties, mud covered ground is one of the obstacles I wish not to have to overcome.  
We encounter small groups of darkspawn throughout the day, but in such small numbers we can assume that the main force of the horde is not nearby.  
As we rest in view of the road, I find myself staring up at the darkened sky, face wrinkled in thought. There is a strong wind now and then, but there is little else to suggest rain.  
“It will not rain.” Loghain’s voice beside me confirms my suspicions. I turn my head to see him eyeing the sky with a neutral expression. He meets my gaze and offers me some bread and cheese. “Clouds such as those are more for show. Though I think the south may be in for some bad weather.”  
I find myself smirking and laughing inwardly. “Loghain Mac Tir is an expert on weather and storms too? That could be useful.”  
This earns a small smirk in response. “When you have spent as many years as I have staring up at those skies, you too would come to read them as easily as one might read a book. Just as walking these roads and forests can render the most detailed maps obsolete. The mind is a powerful and ever-changing thing, shaped by experience.”  
It is his tone that ages him before my eyes, and that reflective spark in his eyes that seem to open themselves for the briefest of moments, baring to the world a life long lived. Those creases on his aging face darken, the faintest hints of grey in his hairline shining brighter in the afternoon sunlight. It is easy to forget what this man has seen, the decades he spent in this world before I even entered it. It is the same look that Mother and Father would bear in moments when they reflected on the past. Of their younger years and of the war they fought side by side. That same war that Loghain himself played a crucial role in. A lifetime of good deeds and sacrifices, culminated in a terrible betrayal, followed by an abrupt defeat. It seems a strange and wasteful end to a life hard fought. As though all of those things that came before suddenly have lost all value. I wonder to myself, then, if he feels the loss and if he regrets any of it. He says that he does not, but there are moments such as this where his eyes tell a different story.  
Blinking and turning my head away, I feel embarrassed for having lost myself so deeply in thought and staring at Loghain through it all. He does not seem to have noticed, but I feel shame all the same. It is not my place to wonder at his depths, nor should it be my curiosity. And yet it is. The mind of a war hero, a man who has lived his life and who sacrificed it all for the sake of a kingdom that will never thank him for it. I cannot decide whether I admire his loyalty or question it.  
A shadow in the corner of my eye catches my attention, barely visible amongst the nearby tree line. I have but a moment to realize the shape of a bowman before an arrow is loosened, hurtling through the air towards Loghain.  
I push against his shoulder, forcing him aside and low, the arrow whistling through the air by my ear and disappearing into the grass beyond us.  
“Ambush!” I cry out to my companions who have already risen from their meals and begun to draw weapons.  
Loghain’s eyes meet mine for a moment, surprise written all over his face, but quickly settles into a hard frown when the reality of the situation dawns on him.  
With my blades in hand I hurry past him, headed directly into the fray. Bodies emerge from the trees wielding all manner of weapons, arrows hissing through the air from multiple directions.  
“Wynne! Morrigan! I need to those archers gone!”  
Both of them nod is response to my barking orders and set about targeting the archers that remain out of range.  
I slip into the heat of the battle with the others, taking down an enemy with a quick flurry of blades, slicing the man’s torso as if it were made of nothing but feathers. When he crumbles to the ground, my blades covered in his blood, I move to the next unknown attacker.  
Loghain joins the fight, bashing his victims with his shield and cutting them down with powerful, singular swings. I find myself distracted by the brutal strength in his movements, impressed by their flawless and vicious execution. Raw, yet somehow elegant.  
It is a hard-fought fight, these unknown assailants more skilled than any bandits I have faced in the past months. It is because of this that I order a man kept alive. Loghain stands with his blade to the last man’s throat, towering over him, much like I had done the day of the Landsmeet when Loghain had been my enemy.  
“You aren’t bandits,” Loghain snarls down at the man before us. “Assassins more like with steel like that.”  
I eye the man on his knees, then glance over at Loghain. “Why would anyone send assassins after us?”  
“To kill me, no doubt.” His reply is as indifferent as most things he says are. “That first arrow was aimed at me. I am certain that I was their target.”  
What he says makes sense. It seems obvious that there would be people out there who would want Loghain dead when I chose to spare his life.  
I lean over our hostage, brow narrowing. “Who sent you?”  
The assassin remains utterly silent, eyes focused on a place far in the distance.  
“Does it even matter?” Loghain spits. “I could name a hundred people off the top of my head who would see my throat cut.”  
Glancing over my shoulder I meet the eyes of my friends who are all gathered, watching us from nearby as Wynne tends to some minor injuries.  
“What would you have us do, then, Loghain?”  
“Send him back to wherever he came from.” His eyes meet mine briefly before he lowers his blade and crouches before the assassin. “Return to whomever hired you and tell them of your shameful defeat. And tell them that they are ridiculous for having wasted the lives of your comrades and our time.”  
Returning to our comrades, we find everyone in decent health, though their moods have only soured further following the ambush. Wynne’s cold glares could slice through Loghain, I think, if it were not for his suit of armour.  
“We ought to reconsider our route, Warden.” Loghain says. “Bloody fools. Who would be so stupid as to send assassins after us now? The very wardens on their way to end the Blight.”  
Zevran chuckles from the stump where he is seated, a bandage on his arm the evidence of a fresh wound. “A little ironic, don’t you think, Loghain?”  
Loghain eyes the Antivan coldly. “I do not jest, elf. And whatever irony you think you see means nothing. There was no Archdemon when I hired you and your men. I had no reason to think it was a Blight at all.”  
I snort my disagreement. “Duncan made it clear from the start that he did not believe it a simple surface raid. Yet you chose to ignore him. You let your bitterness towards the Order blind you to the truth.”  
Loghain groans, his expression turning dangerous. “Are we truly to debate who is right or wrong right now? We are sitting ducks. Darkspawn, bandits, now assassins. Danger lurks around every corner and yet we remain here in the open debating the unchangeable past?”  
“We debate your integrity, Loghain.” Wynne’s tone is a good deal icier than usual as she rises from her feet, having completed bandaging Oghren’s hand. “Why should we risk our lives for the sake of you? For all you have done and the lives you have ruined, it is shame the assassins did not succeed in their mission.”  
Loghain snorts. “Do not bark at me, madam. Assassins my arse. Whoever they were they were barely off the teat and as useful to their masters as a decent bout of gout. They may as well have simply spat across Ferelden from their high walls and prayed to the Maker that it somehow struck me in the face. All nobles are the same. Useless, the lot of them.”  
“You seem disappointed that they failed.”  
“Bah. They were doomed to fail from the start. A pathetic attempt if ever I saw one. I am merely disappointed they were so easy to kill. Rather takes the fun out of it.”  
Wynne eyes him in mortification. “You are a disgusting man.”  
“Pragmatic, actually. So much so that I insist we cease this senseless talk now and get off this damned road. We should travel through the wilderness from now on, Warden. A decent tracker might be able to come after us, but any of these basic fools will have plenty of trouble. Regardless, we should not become complacent and prepare for anything.”  
“I think it wise to listen to your fellow warden, Rhiannon.” Morrigan’s sultry tone and narrowed eyes directed more towards Loghain than myself.  
Loghain eyes her with a look of disgust. “Maker forbid the only sensible person in this group be the swamp witch.”  
I nod. Despite my dislike of his tone and attitude towards my friend, he makes a fair point. “Agreed. Do as he says. We travel off the road the rest of the way to Redcliffe.”  
My companions exchange several glances between themselves and I feel my chest tighten. They know that what Loghain suggests is the best solution, but their distrust in him remains potent.  
I meet Loghain’s gaze and he offers a grateful nod, his steely eyes as vacant as always. I sigh. As if we did not have enough troubles without assassins coming after us as well. I ought not to be surprised considering the unified disdain the people of Ferelden have for Loghain, but I did not think us in such immediate danger. As Loghain said, considering we are on our way to face the Archdemon and the horde. The selfish foolishness of some people knows no bounds, it would seem.


	9. Moralizing and Reflecting

We pitch our tents and establish a camp by a cliffside and a river, Loghain advising the natural camouflage of the land as a means to keep out of sight of any more possible surprise attacks. While the others find his endless suggestions and disagreements to be frustrating and out of place, I find myself appreciating the moment of respite. While I maintain the leadership, having another voice of pragmatism in the group is liberating. Should I doubt myself, Loghain seems to have an alternative in mind. Alistair was nothing like this. He deferred to me on even the simplest of things and agreed with what I had to say without question. It had made deciding on things simple but made the task of leadership all the more difficult for me.  
“I suggest no one ventures from the camp alone until we reach Redcliffe.” Loghain and I stand by the edge of the camp as Leliana and Morrigan begin working on dinner.  
I nod, eyes glancing about the clearing as though ensuring for the thousandth time that there are no shadows creeping up on us.  
Loghain turns his back on the camp, eyeing the slow flowing river that weaves through the clearing and around the base of the small mountain. There is a weariness in his face that I feel in the depths of my aching body. Between all this walking, today’s fight, and the sleepless nights, I feel as though every muscle and bone in my body is nearing breaking point. I close my eyes a moment and think of the warm, soft bed that awaits me at Redcliffe Castle.  
“If we maintain this pace, we should reach Redcliffe in two days.”  
My eyes open and I let out a long sigh. “Some horses might have been nice. I grow weary of all this walking.”  
Loghain smirks. “And here I thought you young and fit. It is intriguing that the man twice your age is the better suited for it.”  
I snort softly, crouching down by the water’s edge. My reflection is that of a young woman, grey eyes darkened by the heavy lines beneath them, long black curls hanging mostly free of a poorly executed ponytail. I cup my hands and cover my face in cool water, marvelling at the freshness as it meets my skin.  
“It has been many years since I ventured into these parts.” Loghain’s tone has softened, but there remains a sharp edge to his words that reminds me that we are little more than passive strangers. “It has hardly changed at all. Nature is forever altering over time yet remains the same in many ways. While we mortals simply grow old and die within the blink of an eye. It is comical really.”  
A small smile tugs at my lips as I follow his gaze to the trees and hills beyond. “I thought the same about my family home. All castles really. Fortresses of stone built to stand the test of time. Much like the mountains, only far less magnificent. Castle Cousland never compared to the palace in beauty and design, but the sheer scale of it and timelessness I found to be breathtaking.”  
There is a short silence then and when I glance up at Loghain he is smiling softly, arms crossed over his chest. It is perhaps the most genuine smile I have yet witnessed from him and it seems to remove a decade from his features.  
Zevran and Sten emerge from the trees carrying the wood for the fire and I rise to my feet, wiping away the remaining water from my face with a handkerchief I keep within my tunic. Noting Zevran’s still bandaged arm, I think back to the conflict we faced earlier in the day.  
“Does it bother you that someone sent assassins after you?” No sooner does the question leave my lips do I feel like an utter fool for even having asked it.  
Loghain’s expression hardens again, only the faintest remnants of our previous conversation lingering in his blue eyes. “Should it?”  
I give a small shrug, eyes directed at the trees again so as to hide my shame at having asked the question in the first place. “I suppose that depends. You were a hero to these people once. I thought perhaps it might bother you.”  
Loghain scoffs. “Hardly. Everything I did was for Maric and Ferelden. Ostagar was for Ferelden. What came after was for Ferelden. I did nothing for those noblemen aside from allow them the chance to grow fat and complacent from behind high walls. They never even thanked me for that much.”  
“You became the Teyrn of Gwaren. You were King Maric’s friend and right hand.”  
“I suppose that ought to make me feel grateful.” Loghain seeks my gaze, which I return reluctantly, his tone a good deal darker than it had been moments ago. His blue eyes are intense. “Would you believe me if I told you that I loathed it all? Would it change your mind about me if I told you that I have missed the simplicity of life outside Denerim, here in the wilderness where I can simply just be?”  
I open my mouth to speak but he scoffs and turns away again.  
“I do not want your pity girl. Save those looks for someone else.”  
The acid in his tone turns my stomach a little, but the truths in his words are what drive me further into the conversation. He means what he said. He never wanted those titles and duties. He never wanted to be locked away in a palace. I saw as much in his eyes the day we left Denerim. “It is not pity that you see.”  
Loghain sighs, undoubtably irritated that I did not simply drop the discussion altogether. “Pity, sympathy. Tis all the same and equally as misplaced on me. The things I have said and done; they are things that cannot be forgiven. I am a monster, no matter how you try to paint me otherwise.”  
“And what if I told you that it was understanding that I felt?”  
“Then I would tell you that you could not possibly. You spend a great deal of time monologuing. Moralizing and reflecting on all you have done. That is not the same. Your morals remain intact whether you chose to brush them aside or no.”  
“You have morals, Loghain. Hide behind your pride all you wish, but they are still there. You said it yourself; you did it all for Ferelden.”  
His eyes return to mine, ice consuming their depths. “I did what I did because I was the only person alive who seemed willing to do it. You say you understand me, but there is no way you could. You did not live the life I lived; you did not see what I saw.”  
My gaze is even, my shoulders squared against his attempts to dissuade me, to prove me inferior in some way. But I recognize too much of the pain in his eyes to accept defeat so easily. “Perhaps not, but I have lived a life of my own and seen my own horrors. Just because our experiences were not the same does not diminish the value of my lessons. I do not pity you because I am you. I do not sympathize because I understand. I understand because I have seen it too. Not the Orlesians occupying my home, but horrors of injustice all the same. There has been no end to it, and I suspect it shall remain so for the rest of my life. I may be half your age, Loghain, but I understand.”  
There is a long silence during which he simply stares down at me, arms tight across his chest. His eyes search mine, seemingly trying to piece something together or to find lies in what I have said. When he finds nothing, he sighs and turns away towards the trees once again.  
“Fate has a sense of humour,” he says with an amused but barely audible chuckle. “Headstrong women continue to be the very bane of my existence.” Then he turns towards the camp as though about to walk away. “Earlier, when you pushed me out of that arrow’s path.” He glances at me over his shoulder briefly. “It would seem I owe you my life twofold.”  
I smirk and cross my arms over my chest. “Keep the Archdemon off me while I put a sword through it, and we can call it even.”  
His reply is little more than a nod as he begins back towards the camp, his silverite armour shining golden in the light of the sunset.


	10. Hope In Their Eyes

Redcliffe appears in the distance in the afternoon of the fourth day, and Maker is it a wonderful sight. There is a unified sigh of relief as we push along the roads and descend the familiar hills into the town. The surrounding fields are filled with the tents of the gathered army and the town itself is bustling much unlike the last time we were here.  
Repairs seem to be underway on the town, new buildings in the beginning stages of construction, and there are more smiles on the faces of the locals than there had been when I last walked through the town centre. Although there remains a foreboding feeling with the horde expected any day now, the people of Redcliffe hold their heads high, determined to see the end of this Blight once and for all.  
“It is heart-warming to see such hope in their eyes.” Wynne smiles warmly at the people who pass us by, speaking my own thoughts out loud. “Only months ago, this town was on the verge of complete destruction. Bann Teagan has done much good in his brother’s absence, it would seem.”  
My smile is one of agreement. “It would seem so. Redcliffe owes him a great debt. Though I am certain he does not see it that way.”  
Wynne laughs softly, a gentle sound that I have not heard in some time. “Indeed. He is most kind and generous.” She offers me a very pointed look. “Good men are hard to come by.”  
Perhaps it was unwise to have told her of my parents’ plans to have me betrothed to Bann Teagan. I had thought it an amusing fact to share with her at the time, having been granted the title of Champion of Redcliffe by the same man and praised relentlessly. Of course, the very idea had disgusted Alistair and it quickly became a sensitive topic.  
“You think a man like Teagan would want a woman like me for a wife?” I laugh and shake my head.  
Zevran catches wind of our conversation then and eyes me with a smirk. “From what I have heard, Bann Teagan has much experience with woman of all types. I do think he would be more than suited to the task.”  
“We are discussing husbands, Zev, not lovers.”  
Zevran raises an eyebrow. “Are the two not mutually exclusive? There is sex to be had in marriage, no?”  
From behind Zevran, Morrigan gives a loud groan and I am aware by the heavy frown that Loghain is giving us that the conversation has been overheard by the entire group and fallen on several unimpressed ears.  
I sigh. The last thing I need right now is another complicated mess that comes with romance. Alistair is still fresh on my mind, an open wound in my chest. While my feelings had not been half as deep as his had been for me, his departure from the group and from my side has left me willing to swear off men forever.  
Passing under the portcullis of Redcliffe Castle, it feels as though I am stepping into the past several months. Little has changed since I last was here, yet it feels as though everything has in the same instant. The castle and grounds themselves remain as they did, but the world around it and the people within it have altered completely. It is both a comfort and disheartening. The reality of what we must soon face seems more real here, as it should. These are the final days. I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in my heart.  
Bann Teagan welcomes us in the main hall where we once confronted a possessed Connor Guerrin. It is a warm welcome, save the cold looks exchanged between the bann and Loghain. But Teagan has always been a reasonable man, and so makes no comments on the presence of our former enemy and instead focuses his attention on bringing us up to speed with the details of the army and the horde.  
“Reports have been less frequent than I would prefer,” Teagan says as I turn to him having dismissed my companions aside from Loghain, who I insisted remain at my side. Teagan’s eyes remain fixed on mine, as though unwilling to acknowledge the presence of the other man. “And what news has reached us has been confusing at best. The darkspawn are erratic, as we already are aware. But their movements have been more so in recent days. What their plan is, we are uncertain.”  
“Do darkspawn make plans?” Loghain’s voice is like a knife through the room, slicing through whatever wall Teagan intended to keep between the two of them. Loghain’s condescending tone does little to smooth over the situation.  
Teagan eyes Loghain levelly, clearly displaying his displeasure of the man with a deep frown and the way he looks at him down the length of his nose. It is not behaviour I am familiar with from Teagan and it unsettles me more than I had expected.  
“Not exactly, no. But it is an army, is it not? One with a leader. They must have a plan of sorts.”  
Loghain snorts. “To destroy Ferelden and everything beyond, that is their so-called plan. But that is not a goal in need of much design. You need merely have the larger force.”  
Teagan’s frown tells me he finds the current discussion ridiculous and I am inclined to agree.  
“Whether darkspawn are strategist or not, we need to figure out where the bulk of their forces are.” Both men turn their attention to me when I speak, my tone growing impatient. “No one in Denerim had any better answers. That is why we hurried here like we did. We should send out more scouts. We cannot mobilize an army on what ifs.”  
“I already have my best men out there, Warden,” Teagan replies. “I am not certain I have much more to offer than that.”  
I nod. “Then I will send my own people.”  
“I will do it.”  
Turning to Loghain I find his expression as neutral as if he were requesting a stroll through a garden. “You are too valuable. I cannot risk it.”  
Loghain snorts. “I am not a helpless maiden, Warden. The task is simple enough. I would not engage the enemy. I know this land down to the streams and overgrown hunting trails. You have no finer scout at your disposal.”  
Teagan and I exchange a glance, but I can see the agreement in his eyes. Loghain is correct. There is likely no one in Ferelden who knows the kingdom as well as he does.  
I sigh. “Very well, but I will go with you.”  
“Whatever for?” Loghain’s frown lightens with a hint of amusement. “You would only slow me down and get in the way. You are needed here.”  
“I agree with Loghain, Rhiannon.” Teagan’s expression is far gentler and full of concern. “We must make plans and await the Queen and Eamon.”  
Glancing between the two men I relent. I do not particularly like the idea of sending Loghain out into danger like this, but I can see the value in it. I did not spare his life to have him ride off into the hills to die hopelessly.  
I nod. “Fine. Loghain, scout to the south and try and locate the horde. You have two days. Teagan, can you provide a horse and supplies?”  
Teagan nods. “Of course, Warden.”  
Loghain meets my gaze, a look of approval in his eyes that I had not expected to see. Nor the faintest hint of a smile that threatens at the corner of his lips.  
“Just try not to get yourself killed, Loghain. It would make me look like a fool.”  
Loghain snorts, that small smile widening ever so slightly. “I have no intention of dying so easily, Warden, though your concern for my wellbeing is appreciated.”  
I snort and smirk in response, Teagan unsure what to make of us.  
“I will ride before dawn.” Loghain’s tone hardens slightly, resembling more his usual neutrality.  
Once the meeting is concluded and Loghain and I move to depart the hall, he turns to me again, arms crossed over his chest.  
“If I do not return, then I leave Ferelden in your hands, Warden.”  
He holds my gaze for a brief moment before signalling us to continue down the corridor in the direction of the great hall. As I watch him take the lead, I feel a knot form in my stomach. I have a bad feeling that seems to be growing by every passing hour. Something tells me that when we face the darkspawn horde, it will not be on our own terms.


	11. A Map of Occupied Ferelden

Despite the warmth and comfort of a decent bed and the luxury of my own chamber, sleep as impossible to come by as it had been within a tent in the middle of nowhere. When I cannot sleep, I find myself in the training yard or walking the grounds in reflective silence, my mind elsewhere with the horde, or northward to Highever that I find myself less and less able to imagine in my mind’s eye.  
Teagan introduces me to the arling’s minor lords and our allies whom I have yet to be acquainted with. It is somewhat of a relief to see so many faces at the talks in the following meetings and gathered in the great hall for meals after all these months I have spent carrying the weight of the Blight on my shoulders alone. To see an army gathered under the command of seasoned and respected warriors and leaders brings me some confidence.  
We have no news from Loghain on the first day and whilst that could mean as much good as bad, I find myself once again unable to sleep that night. The dread within the pits of my stomach builds continuously and with the Archdemon still haunting my dreams, sleep seems like a luxury I could better do without.  
And so, I find myself wandering the castle library in the dead of night. It has been what feels like a lifetime since I picked up a book. As I examine the endless titles on the shelves I wonder if I have the patience to read at all. I decide I do not and instead move to the section of the library where the maps are kept.  
As a child I had been endlessly fascinated by my father’s maps. He kept many from the war and from the castle archives. We spent many nights by candlelight trailing endless roads and rivers, marvelling at mountains, and trying to imagine all manner of strange creatures from far away places. For my thirteenth birthday Father had a map of Highever and the surrounding areas made, but it had not been any ordinary map. He had filled it with mythical creatures and numerous curiosities for me to explore in my imagination. Secret caves, bottomless lakes, hollow trees that led to hidden meadows. Fergus and I had based many adventures off that map.  
My smile is gentle and filled with joy and heartbreak at the memories that flow through my weary mind. That map is no doubt long destroyed and forever lost. But I am thankful for the memories it created, that will live on with me for the rest of my life.  
An older map with frayed edges catches my attention and I cannot resist the urge to spread it out on a table. Lighting a small candle, I can see that it is a map of occupied Ferelden, outlining the Orlesian borders from when Ferelden was under Orlesian rule. It is odd to see the lack of boundaries I am so used to seeing, right there at the Frostback Mountains. To see Highever and Denerim, and all the other towns and castles I know so well as being considered under the rule of a foreign power. There is a powerful sense of loss felt in seeing such things. Hearing stories from my parents about the war had allowed me glimpses into the past, to the horrors faced in those occupied years and in those final years when so many fought for their freedom. Loghain had been correct in what he said. I cannot possibly imagine what they endured. So, I wonder to myself what he saw that could lead him to make the choices that he made at Ostagar and in the months that followed. To turn on his son-in-law and king, to betray those who looked up to him and for guidance.  
I think of the letters I found in King Cailan’s chest when Alistair and I had returned to Ostagar with our friends several months ago. The ones hinting at Cailan’s plans to ally with Orlais through a possible marriage with the Empress herself. Even now it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Even to me the very thought had infuriated me. The entire plan made no sense in the slightest. It was in that moment that my sympathy for Cailan had washed away. Even as we stood by the pyre and watched his body burn, I had been unable to think of anything other than the ridiculous letters I had read. It was then that my opinions of Arl Eamon had also altered severely.  
I kept those letters along with King Maric’s sword. All are here in Redcliffe Castle, safely locked away in the castle treasury. I had asked Teagan to watch over them until I could collect them. I had thought to gift the sword to Alistair when we returned here, but so much has changed. Perhaps I ought to send it to him instead, but I do not know whether he would even accept it now.  
“Do you ever sleep?”  
A voice across the table from me takes me by surprise. I had not heard anyone approach. Thankfully, it is only Teagan, but I think perhaps this lack of sleep is damaging my alertness.  
I smile up at him, peeling my eyes and thoughts away from the map between us. “Not really, no.”  
Teagan’s smile does not waver, but there is a concerned look in his eye that I know well. It reminds me of Father and of Fergus. They often looked at me like that when they were about to scold me for something silly I had done. But he does not scold me, instead he moves closer to the table, eyes peering at the map.  
“A map of occupied Ferelden. There are very few of them left. They were destroyed following Maric’s victory.”  
I nod, eyes lowering to the map. “I have never seen one. I admit it is equal parts fascinating and heartbreaking to see it.”  
Teagan’s smile softens. “Indeed, I am certain many people would agree. I did not see much of the war; I was sent abroad with Eamon for the majority of it. But my sister Rowan and my father both fought for Maric.”  
The mention of Queen Rowan draws my eyes back to his. It is so easy to forget that she was Teagan’s sister. It seems strange to think of one of my idols as just a simple person, as someone’s sister. Much like having the Hero of River Dane as my now companion.  
“I do not claim to have half the bravery or aptitude for swordplay as Rowan had,” Teagan continues. “She was quite the war maiden. She was a lot like you, actually. You both share that determination, that skill and ferocity. I saw it in you here in Redcliffe when we fought the undead. You are most impressive.”  
My cheeks redden, flustered by the compliment and the comparison to the woman I have looked up to my entire life. “I do not think I am worthy of such praise.”  
He chuckles softly. “Of course you do not. You are humble. But I mean what I said. There are very few who can wield a blade like you and far fewer who could have united Ferelden against the Blight as you have. You truly are a marvel.”  
“I did not have a choice.”  
“No, but you certainly had the talent and determination for it.”  
A small smile pulls at my lips, but it does not reach my eyes. For all this praise and all these moments of hope of what is to come, there is the very real possibility that all of this will have been for nothing. The horde could simply walk right over us and none of what I have done will have mattered.  
Teagan steps forwards and runs a hand along the map, a finger trailing the West Road from Denerim to Redcliffe. “It is yours.”  
I frown over at him, not quite certain of what he means.  
He smiles up at me. “The map, Rhiannon. Eamon has never once stepped foot in this library and as a politician, these maps are worthless to him anyway. It is I that has kept this collection stocked. And I say take it. The map is yours.”  
“That is kind of you, Teagan, but-”  
“Maker’s tears, Rhi, just take it.” He laughs to himself and begins rolling the map. He hands it out to me with a bright smile. “Keep it, sell it, use it to start a campfire. Do with it what you will. It is better than having it sit here gathering dust.”  
I take the map from him reluctantly but find myself smiling once it is in my hands. I have so few belongings these days and it has been a very long time since someone last gave me a gift.  
“Thank you, Teagan.”  
He walks me to my chamber, the short journey spent mostly in silence. As I tuck myself into my bed, eyes on the map that I placed on the bedside table, I think about Loghain and where he is in this moment. I wonder if he has found the horde, if he is alive or dead, or if he is laying under the stars in his bedroll, the voices in his head too loud for sleep. And as I drift off to sleep, that hum in the back of my mind seems to soften, growing more distant somehow. But I am too far gone into the depths of sleep to think anything of it. I simply let myself fall into the darkness, relieved to finally be able to rest.


	12. He Is A Traitor

Queen Anora and Arl Eamon arrive in the early afternoon, bringing with them Riordan as well as knights and foot soldiers from the king’s army. Upon their arrival they call a meeting with all of the leaders to discuss the final plans. It is a tedious meeting with Arl Eamon and Anora both having much to say. But for the most part, our preparations are complete. All that remains is news on the horde’s location.  
“You sent the traitor to find the horde?” Eamon’s tone is that of disbelief, his aging eyes narrowed coldly down at me as he and Anora stand before the gathered leaders. “Are you certain that was a wise decision?”  
Around the room there is a murmur of agreement.  
“We had little choice, my Lord,” I reply, lifting my chin with confidence. “We need to find the location of the darkspawn forces and Loghain is a talented scout. His knowledge of the land made him an ideal choice.”  
“He is a traitor.”  
I fight back the urge to sigh as I continue to hold the arl’s gaze. “He is a Grey Warden. His duty is to end the Blight and give his life should it be required of him. I gave the order, and he has followed it.”  
I meet Riordan’s eyes across the room, and he gives a small nod in agreement with what I have said and seemingly offering his belated approval.  
“My father may be a traitor,” Anora interjects, staring down Eamon with a level-headed ferocity. “But he knows his duty. If he has been commanded to seek out the horde, then that is what he is doing.”  
Eamon looks as though he would argue further, but before he is able to reply, the door of the main hall bursts open and Loghain enters, breathless and drenched in mud and sweat. The gathered leaders part to allow him to approach the front of the hall, his blue eyes meet mine as he comes to stand beside me.  
He bows quickly before his daughter and the arl. “I have found the horde.” His eyes meet mine again and he struggles to gather breath. “It is not marching for Redcliffe. It has turned eastward. I believe it aims for Denerim.”  
There are several gasps and then a unified murmur erupts throughout the hall. Loghain’s eyes burn into mine, as though speaking to me across the space between us. I can see the exhaustion within them, and the touch of fear. He is in a sorry state. As though he rode himself ragged to return with this news.  
“Are you certain?” Eamon’s question is laced with bitterness, as though he means to question if Loghain has spoken a lie.  
“It is a little difficult to mistake an entire army of darkspawn, my Lord,” Loghain growls in return, his breathing having levelled out somewhat.  
“If the horde is marching on Denerim, we must act quickly.” Riordan steps towards the Queen and arl. “The city is basically defenceless. Ser Cauthrien is not prepared for an entire army of darkspawn. Nor are there any Wardens in the city.”  
Anora holds her father’s gaze for a moment before turning to the those gathered. “Then we march for Denerim.”  
“How much time do we have?” I ask Loghain in a voice low enough for just the two of us.  
He glances at me sideways, not entirely meeting my gaze. “Less than a week. They are moving rapidly but they are erratic. Days most likely. It is anyone’s guess.”  
I nod. “Then we should ride ahead. The army will take four days at the very least. The horde could reach Denerim by then.”  
Loghain nods. “I agree. We should depart tonight.”  
“No.” When he frowns at me, I shake my head. “You need to rest. And I ought to be here for the planning. Anora will mobilize the army before dawn. Then we can ride ahead and clear the way.”  
He considers this for a moment before nodding again. “As you say, Warden.”  
The gathering is adjourned, Anora calling for a final meeting after supper. As those gathered shuffle into the corridor, Loghain and I follow suit.  
“Did you see much of the horde?”  
Loghain glances at me as we walk the corridor, shoulder to shoulder. “I did.”  
A shiver runs down the length of my spine at the thought of it. Part of me is thankful that it was not I who rode to find it.  
“It looks much like it did at Ostagar.” His tone is even and matter of fact. “Only larger.”  
I frown. “How much larger?”  
He shrugs. “I admit I did not move close enough to find out. Far more darkspawn than a man could count. But the closer I got the worse this damned hum became.” He shakes his head as though ridding himself of a bad thought. “I thought for certain they knew I was there.”  
I swallow down the fear that prickles through my body, reminded of the night the darkspawn ambushed our camp before the Landsmeet. “The Archdemon can sense us, just as the other darkspawn can. I wonder why they did not attack you.”  
“I kept my distance. I may not fear death, but I had a responsibility to return with the location.”  
“Still.” I sigh as we reach the chamber I had set aside for Loghain, across the corridor from my own. “Get some rest. I will need you at the meeting after supper. If you require anything, you need only find me.”  
He nods curtly. “Of course, Warden.” And then he turns to the door and disappears inside.


	13. It Should Be Me

I spend what remains of the afternoon planning with my companions in my chamber, relaying the details of the plan so far and promising our victory with as much confidence as I can muster. There is no shortage of enthusiasm within the group as Zevran and Leliana try their best to echo my confidence, but I can see in their eyes that they fear what is to come as much as I do.  
Wynne offers brief words of hope and the squeeze of my arm as they shuffle from the room, while Zevran makes a joke about darkspawn booties in an attempt to earn a smile. Their kindness eases the feeling of dread slightly, but I still find myself slumping down into my chair in defeat when it is only Loghain and I who remain.  
“You have their loyalty and their lives, Warden. Sometimes that is all one needs to win a war.”  
I glance up at Loghain as he stands across the room, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you truly believe that?”  
He smirks. “No. I believe those are Maric’s words, not mine. I think them stupid and naïve, but he was the one who inspired the people, not I. Do they inspire you?”  
I laugh softly. “Not really, but they are kind all the same. Thank you, Maric.”  
Loghain’s smirk deepens. He looks about to say something else, but Riordan appears in the doorway, his expression sombre.  
“Good, you are both here.” He steps into the room, eyeing the corridor in both directions before closing the door behind him.  
I sit upwards in my chair. “Is something the matter, Riordan?”  
When he turns back to me, he lets out a long sigh. “I must speak with you both. It is about the Archdemon.”  
Loghain and I exchange frowns.  
“Go on.”  
Riordan meets my gaze firmly. “You are new to the Grey Wardens, so you may not have yet been told how an Archdemon is slain.”  
Loghain scoffs. “I suppose it was idiotic of me to think it were as simple as sticking a blade through it. Nothing is ever so simple.”  
Riordan’s eyes move to Loghain for a moment, before returning to me. “Then it is true. I had hoped Duncan might have told you, but it would seem he did not.” He sighs. “Have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?”  
I nod. “Many times. I assumed it had something to do with the Taint within us.”  
“That is exactly what it involves.”

Riordan leaves my chamber with barely more than a word beyond his explanation. A simple nod is his apology before he disappears out the door as though he had never been here at all.  
Loghain stands in the corner of the room, eyes focused on an empty space on the wall. He is lost in thought, but there is a look of relief in his eyes that has my stomach in knots, confused and unsettled by his reaction.  
The world has shifted for the thousandth time since Duncan took me from my family home. A never-ending cycle of fleeting moments, both good and bad. It is as though for every day where there is peace and any kind of happiness, there are a dozen filled with heartache and fear. This new understanding is something I had not expected, though I know I ought to have suspected as much. As I told Riordan, I have often wondered at the truth behind the Grey Wardens’ role in ending Blights. I had asked Alistair about it and he had no answers for me. It seems Duncan had not the chance to even tell him about this.  
Across the room Loghain sighs a long breath, as though cleansing himself of all the worries of the world. His eyes meet mine then.  
“Tis a small price to pay to end this madness,” he says, low and calm. “A life to end the Blight. I would gladly give mine for it. Perhaps you have been right all along, Warden. Perhaps this is my means for atonement.” There is hope in his voice that has my stomach in knots.  
“Riordan says that he will make the final blow.”  
“Yes, but should he fail, the task should fall to me.” His eyes burn into mine, as though challenging me or perhaps convincing me to accept his proposal.  
I shake my head. “Your skills are too valuable, Loghain. The Wardens need someone like you to rebuild.”  
He scoffs. “And you think they would let a traitor take command of the Ferelden Order? No, girl, it is you that is needed beyond the Blight. You said it yourself; you conscripted me for this very purpose. I die so that you may live. So that the Wardens shall live.”  
My jaw clenches to hold back a flow of arguments. He is right. This is the reason why I conscripted him. To aid me in the final battle. To help me take down the Archdemon. To atone for his wrong doings. Should he make that final blow, he will have succeeded in all of these things. But why does the thought of it make my stomach turn?  
It should be me. The single thought carries an incredible weight, yet it is freeing in the same instance. It should be me. All these months I have somehow known that this would not be survivable. That my life would likely be the price to pay. And I have accepted it without knowing. For Loghain to say that he ought to die instead, it unravels my entire future. It dismantles my understanding of myself and my purpose. I am not the person who rebuilds the order in Ferelden. I am not the person that the future recruits look up to for guidance and wisdom. I am barely even a Warden now, after months of living as nothing else.  
Loghain sighs softly, lowering his hands to his sides. His expression is smooth and his blue eyes warmer than I have yet seen them. “Allow me this, I beg of you, Warden. Maker knows I have much to atone for.”  
My eyes meet his, drawn in by the pleading tone of his voice that strikes a chord with me. This is not a traitor facing the executioner’s blade, this is a man desperate to make amends for his mistakes. A soul in need of forgiveness. There is a vulnerability within him in this moment that I never expected to see. I did not know it even resided within him. For all his callousness and bitterness, there remains the man Anora idolizes. The father she loves wholeheartedly and who she defends with every bone in her body.  
“And what mighty warrior are you playing, girl?” His voice plays through my mind, a distant memory that refuses to dilute no matter how many years pass. “Andraste? King Calenhad?”  
“Queen Rowan, your Lordship.”  
“Ah, a war maiden, then. All the better.”  
The memory is bittersweet and despite the heaviness of my thoughts and the weight of my heart, I nod. I am a war maiden. I can endure this.  
“So be it.”  
Loghain holds my gaze for a long moment before he lowers his head in a bow. “Thank you, Warden.”


	14. A Stubborn Man

It is late in the night when the meeting concludes and many of those gathered are practically asleep on their feet. A long day of preparation has most people in a daze, but our growing fears keep many of us from getting any proper rest. It is after midnight when I wander the busy corridors of Redcliffe Castle and find endless faces seemingly doing the same, eyes half closed in sheer exhaustion, but minds and hands too active for sleep.  
The Archdemon feels closer tonight somehow. Not physically, but mentally. Riordan’s revelation on killing it has left a gaping hole in my chest that I cannot seem to mend no matter how many times I try. Retreating within myself is often how I deal with such things. That and targeting a poor defenceless training dummy, but with the sun having set many hours ago, the latter seems less like a good idea and more like asking for a terrible accident. Days out from all out war, such risks are ill advised. Especially in the mood I find myself in.  
I pass by Teagan’s office and find him bent over maps and paperwork, dark circles under his deep blue eyes. He greets me with a bright smile, but it is vacant and does not reach his eyes.  
“I had hoped you might allow me access to the treasury.”  
Teagan’s smile falters slightly as though disappointed at the reason for my being here, but he nods. “Of course. I have kept your things safe as I promised.”  
I offer an equally as empty smile. “Thank you, Teagan. It means a lot.”  
We walk in silence to the treasury on the second floor. Teagan unlocks the door with a loud click, and it swings open with a creak, revealing the chamber beyond. Inside there are countless valuable heirlooms of the Guerrin family. Despite having gawked at them the first time I stepped foot inside, I do so again.  
Teagan follows behind me, glancing around at his family’s valuables, a sorrowful look in his eyes. “There is an entire history of the Guerrin bloodline held within these walls.”  
“It is amazing,” I say, my voice low. “It reminds me of my family’s treasury in Castle Cousland. Maker how I loved that room. I stole Mother’s key many times and snuck inside just to admire the heirlooms.” I swallow down the lump in my throat as thoughts of all those items likely having been destroyed arise. “Howe likely had them all burned.”  
“Rhi…”  
I turn away from the shield I had been admiring that bears the Redcliffe crest and find the item I have come to retrieve on the stand where I left it months ago. It is wrapped in a cloth and tied with old rope I had on my person when we had returned to Ostagar. Even covered I can still see the faint glow of the runes from the blade itself.  
Taking the bundle into my hand, I locate the three letters I kept within the folds of the cloth, eyeing them for a moment with a mixture of emotions. These had been in Cailan’s chest at Ostagar. Correspondence with the Empress of Orlais and one from Arl Eamon that had mentioned Cailan casting aside Anora as his queen. My jaw clenches at the words I can still recall that are written on these sheets of parchment. It had been through these letters that I became aware of the true politics behind what happened at Ostagar and what was to come at the Landsmeet. Until that moment I had praised Cailan on his efforts to create a lasting alliance between Orlais and Ferelden. It is an alliance that I would still wish to see should circumstances allow for it. Peace is something Ferelden needs. But these letters had painted Cailan in an altogether different light. The last of which was the most revealing of all. His seemingly close and personal relationship with the Empress herself. Something equal parts shocking and mortifying. If he were to have heeded Eamon’s advice and cast aside Anora, was it his plan to marry Celene instead? Such an alliance would be powerful, but equal parts devastating for Ferelden. It would be as though handing the kingdom back to the Orlesians, in name if not entirely in state.  
“Rhiannon?” Teagan’s worried tone pulls me from my thoughts and I quickly slide the letters inside my tunic.  
“We ought to get some sleep,” I say as I make for the door, Teagan following behind with a concerned frown on his brow. “Thank you for this, Teagan. I will see you in the morning.”  
Hurrying down the corridor towards my chamber, I try to shake away this conflict of feelings whirling inside me. The politics of kings always seemed so flawless and effortless to me as a child. Of course I had been naïve and lived mostly within my own made up fantasy world, but even when I overheard my father’s talks with his lords and with my mother, I had not understood the true meaning, the cost of all these decisions. It was not until Howe slaughtered my family and I watched an entire army fall beside the king that I realized just what politics and war truly are. They are fights to the death to hold onto your beliefs and to create a world that you believe is the right one. But not everyone shares your views, and often, no one does. You must face down enemies and death and fight for what is right. And then there are those who care not for what is right at all, greed, and power their simple motivations. People like Howe who gave into evil for the sake of their own selfishness.  
Reaching Loghain’s door I take a moment to gather myself. From the flickering candlelight at the base of the door, I assume he must still be awake. I gather my thoughts and square my shoulders, willing these thoughts out of my mind. I am here to make peace with this man. With what we are to face, I would have him understand me, and I would try to understand him. It is likely we could one or both be dead in mere days, and should we survive, we face a lifetime at each other’s side as we rebuild our order. We are not friends, but neither are we enemies. Allies will suffice. And allies need an understanding.  
I knock softly, hoping that he is awake and that I am not disturbing him from his sleep.  
“Yes.” His reply is low and weary, and more a statement than a question.  
I push open the door to find Loghain reclining on his bed, seated atop the covers in a tunic and trousers. It is an odd sight, seeing him in normal clothes instead of armour. I have become so accustomed to the armour that I have come to think of it as part of him. And yet it is placed out neatly on top of a dresser on the other side of the room, freshly cleaned and polished.  
“What is it?” His tone is somewhat irritated and filled with fatigue. He is looking up from several letters and documents in his hands.  
“It seems like the whole of Redcliffe is awake.”  
Loghain sighs and seats himself upwards on the edge of his bed. “It would appear so.” He eyes me a long moment. “Are you here to make observations of pre battle sleeping habits, or did you have something important to discuss?”  
I find myself sighing and resisting the urge to roll my eyes at his goading tone. “Not big on small talk, are you?”  
Loghain matches my sigh, though his borders on a groan. “No, I am not. Especially at this hour.”  
I take a seat on the chair across from him, placing the covered blade on my lap. I can see his eyes move to the sword and the briefest moment of curiosity within them before he looks away, placing his letters onto the bedside table.  
“Though I admit I have never been capable of much rest on the eve of battle. Now more than ever with this damned voice in my head.”  
It is a trouble I know all too well. That voice he speaks of plagues me endlessly. A hum in the back of the mind that threatens to grow louder should you focus on it. It lingers, teasing you and daring you to try to understand it. But should you try, it is as though it grows softer just to spite you.  
“Alistair said that apparently the voices are louder during a Blight. I pray that he is correct. If so, I look forward to when this is over, and I can regain some peace. Regardless of the outcome.”  
There is a hint of something in Loghain’s eyes then. Understanding. Sympathy. I am unsure, but it softens the hard lines of his aging face a little, reminding me of how he had pleaded with me earlier to allow him to be the one to land the killing blow.  
Lowering my eyes from his, it is then that I notice the bandage around his upper arm, poorly tied, clearly the work of a stubborn man with only one free hand.  
“What happened? I did not see any wound on you earlier.”  
Loghain appears confused for a moment before glancing down at the bandage. “It is barely more than a scratch. Caught the damn thing on a low branch on the ride back. It will heal.”  
I raise an eyebrow. “A scratch merits a bandage?”  
He gives a careless shrug. “Perhaps not.”  
I sigh and place down the sword on the floor, then begin to shuffle my chair closer to him.  
“What are you doing?” His eyes are wide as though fearful of what I might be about to do to him.  
I laugh at his expression. “I am not going to bite you, Loghain, you need not look so frightened.” I reach for the remaining bandage on the bedside table.  
“I do not need a nursemaid, girl.”  
I snort. “I am not offering to become one. Just hold still.” I reach for his arm and begin unwinding his poor attempt at bandaging himself. It looks almost as poorly done as that time Alistair took an arrow in the arm had attempted his own bandages. Leliana and I had both bit back laughter as we watched him struggle for the better part of an hour until he finally gave up and threw a wonderful tantrum.  
I catch myself smiling and clear my throat, quickly forcing it away when I see Loghain’s eyes frowning down at me.  
“What is it that amuses you now?”  
I bite my lip. “I was just wondering if it is a trait that all men a born with.”  
He arches a brow as though prompting me to continue.  
I laugh. “The inability to ask for help with even the smallest of things. Perhaps especially the minor things.”  
Loghain grunts, vaguely amused but mostly vexed by the insinuation. “Same could be said for women and their unrelenting stubbornness and inability to listen.”  
“I wonder how men and women get along at all, if such is the case.” My smile falters when I see the depth and scale of Loghain’s so called scratch. It is easily well within the gash category. “This will require a healer and poultices.”  
Loghain shakes his head and attempts to pull his arm away, but I grasp his forearm with both hands, my heavy frown meeting his.  
“I take it coddling is common amongst women too.” His tone is irritated but amused.  
“For some women, perhaps. I am hardly coddling you.”  
“Really? I am not your friend and yet you fuss over me as though I were.”  
I sigh and tighten the bandage as I wind it around his surprisingly muscular upper arm. For a man of his age, I must admit he is well built. Broad shoulders, a strong chest, and defined arms. He is every bit the warrior history books portray him to be.  
“I treat you as a fellow person, Loghain. A simple kindness all should follow. Though I am not sure you care either way, but I do not think you the monster you claim to be.”  
The amusement fades, replaced by a cool stare. “Is that so? You would overlook the atrocities I have committed for the sake of your own fool hearted morals?”  
I release his arm abruptly having completed the final knot. “Kindness is fool hearted?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“Only sometimes?” I scoff and lean back in my chair. “Maker you are a strange, bitter old man. So then, am I supposed to waste my life filled with hate? Is that truly a productive use for my time and energy? I might as well swear off my duties and become your nursemaid after all, if that is what you expect of me.”  
“Hah!” Loghain tilts his head back and gives a hearty laugh. “Andraste’s flaming arse, you are just like him.”  
“Who?” I too am smiling, despite my desire to make a point.  
“Maric.” He meets my eyes, his mouth still pulled upward in a smile. “Are you sure you are a Cousland and not a Theirin?”  
I near choke on his rhetorical question. “I hope not! Might make for some strange stories considering what Alistair and I once were.”  
Loghain eyes me. “So it is true. You and Maric’s bastard were…”  
I nod. “Yes, though it was short lived. Maker knows I am not proud of it.”  
“Oh?”  
I sigh. “Love has no place with me. I have a rather disastrous history. I am beginning to think that perhaps I am the problem.” I smirk at him to which he offers an understanding half-smile.  
“It would appear that is something else we have in common.” There is a moment of distant sadness in his eyes, or perhaps it is regret. I wonder at it for barely a moment before it disappears completely.  
Loghain’s eyes move to the blade I bought with me. “Is that a new sword?”  
I blink several times, confused for a moment as to what he is referring to, before shaking my head. “No. Well, sort of.” I rise to my feet and fetch it from the floor. Turning back to Loghain, I hold it out to him. “Actually, it is for you.”  
He eyes me in a rare display of bewilderment, much alike when I had approached him to fix his bandage. After a moment he takes the blade and slowly begins to unwrap it. His eyes widen when he recognizes it.  
“Maric’s sword?” His eyes meet mine. “Where did you find this?”  
I seat myself back on the chair in front of him. “At Ostagar. We returned there some months ago. We found several things of value. And Cailan.”  
Loghain’s eyes move back to the sword as though trying to hide the flash of something that crosses his face.  
“We held a small funeral for him,” I continue, pretending not to have noticed. “It was nothing worthy of a king, but I could not think to leave him for the darkspawn or the wolves.”  
Loghain nods simply. “That was good of you.”  
I eye him for a moment, the weight of the parchment in my tunic drawing my attention. “We also found some letters.”  
His eyes meet mine then, a frown returning to his brow. “What letters?”  
I retrieve them from my tunic and hand them to him. “Read them for yourself.”  
As he reads, Loghain’s expression hardens dangerously and I can see the rage building within him. When he is done his arm lowers and he stares into nothing, his mind processing all he has read.  
“That damned fool.”  
It is a response far calmer than I expected. I had expected an outburst of some kind.  
“Did you know anything about these?”  
Loghain sighs and shakes his head. “No. Yet more things Cailan kept hidden from me. I knew he was communicating with the Empress, and I heard rumours of his thoughts to cast aside Anora, but nothing like this. I knew he was foolish, but I did know it to be this ridiculous.”  
“I admit when I read those letters, they made me question a lot of things. Most of all your role in what happened.”  
Loghain’s eyes hold mine. “You do not mean that. What I did was unforgivable.”  
“I know.” My eyes lower to the letters that remain in his hands. “But for a moment I felt such betrayal. After all that my parents and grandfather fought for; to have the king wanting to hand Ferelden back to our captors…” I run a hand through my long, black curls. “It made my blood boil. As I watched him burn on that pyre, I wondered what misery was avoided by his untimely end. Would we have suffered more or less than we do now?” I meet his eyes again, his expression softer than before, but somehow stronger.  
“I suppose we will never know.” He folds the letters and hands them back to me. I take them in hand, eyeing them for a long while, my mind sifting through the myriad of twisted and confusing thoughts that flow through my exhausted brain.  
In front of me, Loghain holds his new sword in front of him, examining it intently.  
“It is a fine blade,” he says, his tone having resumed its usual form. “Maric was proud of it to the point of absurdity. It feels oddly peaceful to hold it again.” He glances past the blade to me. “I…thank you, Warden. It is good to have a piece of Maric back.”  
Forcing away my thoughts, I offer a warm smile. “You are welcome. I am pleased I could return it to you. I think Maric would have wanted you to have it.”  
He scoffs softly. “Perhaps.”  
I rise to my feet then, a hideous yawn twisting my face. I make for the door, unsure what the hour is and whether sleep will even claim me tonight, but hopeful that it might. I pause at the door and turn back to Loghain where he remains on the edge of his bed, admiring the blade in his hand.  
“You have permission to use my name, you know.”  
He smirks but says nothing, and so I disappear into the corridor and across to my chamber, diving headlong into the comfort of my bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes.


	15. The Last Cousland

Redcliffe bustles to life well before dawn, the armies having pulled up their tents and gathered in the fields before the sun has even peaked on the horizon.  
In the main bailey of Redcliffe Castle, the leadership and my companions assemble, horses and people crowding the typically large space and making it feel a thousand times smaller. Many of our allies rode to meet the army some time ago and they await our word to begin the march for Denerim.  
My black mare paws at the cobblestone underfoot, snorting against the cold morning air. Loghain’s dappled dray whinnies in response to its companion as Loghain tosses a saddlebag over the horse’s back, securing it in place with refined skill.  
At my side Hero whines, unsure what to make of the horses for this journey. He is so accustomed to us walking everywhere.  
I reach down to pet him lovingly on the head. “It’s alright, boy. You can run with Shale.”  
Hero barks excitedly.  
“Go on, go find her. She is by the gate. We will be right behind you. Stay safe, bud.”  
Another bark. Hero turns as though to leave, but instead he hurries over to Loghain who greets him with affectionate pets and a small smile.  
“Do as your master says, dog. Good boy.”  
Hero barks again and then hurries off towards where Shale stands, towering above the crowd and looking as unimpressed as a stone golem can.  
“I did not know you and Hero had become such good friends.”  
Loghain eyes me a moment, then turns back to his horse to check over his saddle. “It is food he wants. I stopped by the kennel after supper and took him some scraps. Now he will not leave me alone.”  
I laugh at his disgruntled tone. “He is a Mabari. He has an appetite like no other. Perhaps even worse than a Warden’s.”  
Loghain sneers, no doubt recalling our discussion at breakfast this morning about the increased appetite of Grey Wardens that he had not heard of. I had laughed at him when he told me how ridiculously hungry he has been lately and sighed heavily when he learned that it was normal.  
“Speaking of,” I say with a smile still planted on my face. I tap one of my saddle bags. “I made sure to pack extra food. In case that appetite of yours kicks in again.”  
“You can talk.” He smirks over at me. “I did not think it possible for a lady to eat so much. It is a wonder you are not the size of a house.”  
“It is fuel for my wit.”  
Loghain scoffs and shakes his head, turning away once again.  
“Wardens.” Anora’s voice from behind me earns our attention then. Her eyes meet Loghain’s for a moment, before turning to me. “I trust you have all that you need?”  
I nod. “We do. You need not worry about us, Your Majesty, we will see the army safely to Denerim.”  
Anora offers a small smile, but there is a moment of hesitation within it that I know is only visible to those who know her as well as her father and I do.  
“Thank you, Rhi. Please, stay safe. Both of you.” She eyes Loghain again, before turning away and joining Arl Eamon by the carriages.  
“She worries about you.”  
Loghain glances over his shoulder at me with an indifferent expression. “She does. But my daughter is a sensible woman. She knows that such worries are futile.”  
“They are not futile. She is scared to lose you.”  
Loghain snorts, turning to me fully. “Hardly. Anora is stronger than anyone I have ever known. Should I die, she will live on bravely as she always has. She has spent a lifetime knowing there will come a day when I do not return to her. It has long been her understanding that I will likely die on some distant battlefield. It is how I would prefer to go. Not wasting away in a soft bed, coddled to the end.”  
I can understand his meaning, but his indifference is still saddening to me. Having lost my own parents so recently, I know that it is a pain I would not wish upon anyone.  
“She is still your daughter.” Loghain sighs heavily when I continue the discussion beyond what he would consider the end of it. “As one myself, I know the loss of a parent is a loss unlike any other.”  
His eyes lower then, a hint of sympathy within their cool depths. “Yes, I am aware. But nature is such that we are meant to experience that loss. It is the loss of a child that is said to be the worst. Maker willing, I will never know such pain. No,” his tone hardens as his eyes find Anora across the crowd as she climbs into her carriage. “I will die well before Anora and she will shoulder it as she does everything else. I did not raise a coward.”  
My eyes move from Anora and back to her father who, for all his bravery and displays of indifference, is watching his daughter’s carriage with a look of worry in his eyes.  
“You are blessed, Loghain.” I feel a pain in my chest as I witness their family bond. Something I no longer possess. “Even if it does not feel like it.” His eyes meet mine. “Your bloodline has a chance to live on. I only wish my own could too. The last Cousland. Maker, what a horrible feeling it is to be the only one left.”  
Loghain’s eyes hold mine, intense and burning into me with a heat that is unfamiliar to me and equal parts terrifying and intriguing. “That it is.”

The ride is hard and exhausting, the early spring sun seeming hotter this year than any other as it rises high into the sky and pours down on my armour-clad body. Loghain and I maintain a steady pace ahead of the army, with scouts and a detachment of knights creating a small vanguard ahead of us. I divide my own party to maintain the boundaries of the army as it moves through the Hinterlands towards Denerim.  
Anora has her best scouts on the trail of the horde and on the first night we make camp it is clear that Loghain’s suspicions had been correct. And more than that, the horde is making faster ground than us.  
“I have sent Shale ahead to aid in the defence,” I say as we are gathered within the command tent well after sunset.  
Arl Eamon stands beside Teagan, stroking his beard in anxious thought. Teagan himself wears a heavy frown, though he does try to offer a small smile whenever my eyes meet his.  
Anora is seated on the only chair in the tent, her knuckles pale as her hands clench tightly on the armrests, eyes focused on an empty space between us.  
“We are still days away from Denerim at this pace,” Teagan says, his tone agitated, a hand tight around the hilt of his sword. “We are too large a force to navigate the land easily. Our foot soldiers cannot move fast enough, and we cannot ask them to. We would sooner have an army destroyed by exhaustion than face the horde at all.”  
“Then our foot soldiers must remain.” Anora’s eyes move around the room and settle on Loghain. “How many cavalries do we have?”  
Loghain shifts, eyes moving between myself and Arl Eamon who has been continuously vocal on his objections in having Loghain so heavily involved in all of this. “Five units, though one of those is assigned to the vanguard.”  
Anora sighs. “Then we ought to send another farther ahead. The city is defenceless.”  
“Your Highness, we must send a Grey Warden with them.” Riordan has been mostly silent through this meeting, but he steps out from the shadows now. “If the Archdemon shows itself, there must be a warden present.”  
Loghain and I exchange a glance.  
I let out a long sigh, knowing the look in Loghain’s eyes to be one of determination. “We will go.”  
All eyes turn to me then.  
“I should be the one to go,” Loghain disagrees, his frown hardening. “We have already established this. You should be here, with the army.”  
“I am not a general, Loghain, the army can do well enough without me.” I turn to Riordan who is frowning at the both of us. “Will you remain with the army, Riordan? If, by some ridiculous turn of events the horde changes direction, there must be a warden here.”  
The Orlesian Warden hesitates but nods. “I think it wise, Rhiannon.”  
I turn my attention back to Anora and Eamon. “Then it is settled. I will form a small group and take with us the cavalry you can spare. I would also request several mages and scouts. Only what you can afford to do without, of course.”  
Anora nods. “Of course, Rhi. Take who you need.”  
Exiting the tent, I can feel the tension from Loghain, but he does not say anything. Rather, as we make our rounds and gather together those who we will take with us, he stands by my side in complete silence, watching and listening, and nodding when I turn to him for approval.  
I decide to take Leliana and Zevran with us for the rush towards Denerim. They are the fittest of the group and the lightest. They will likely move faster and not tire their horses as quickly as the others. I would have asked Wynne to join us, but she is not fit for such excursions and I believe the army would benefit more from her skills, so I opt to leave her behind with the others.  
It is some time before I crawl into my small tent, my entire body aching from a day in the saddle and from this continuous lack of sleep. I remove my armour with a heavy sigh, glad to be rid of its weight. Slipping into my bed roll, my eyes grow heavy and sleep claims me effortlessly, my worries washed away for a few hours before the nightmares begin.


	16. The Hero of River Dane

Loghain wakes me from a restless sleep, already donning his silverite armour and dismantling his own tent, his horse half packed. I splash cold water over my head, washing away my fatigue and all the horrible things I saw within my dreams. Standing outside my tent, I stare up at the stars as I pull on my armour, tired fingers fumbling over endless straps and ties.  
Loghain eyes me now and then, his frustration mounting as buckles slip from my grasp and I sigh endlessly in defeat. My mind is like a fog this morning, shrouded in a mist of worry and endlessly circling around the plans set in place for what is to come.  
“You think too much.” Loghain is beside me then, large hands taking the straps from my fingers, his dark brow narrowed as he works flawlessly to complete the ties that I cannot seem to manage in my daze.  
“I would argue that I do not think enough.” I let out a long sigh, my shoulders falling. “Each time I take a step forward, I am made to retreat three.”  
“Such is life,” he replies curtly. “And such is leadership. It is the role of the follower to take the fall and the role of the leader to make adjustments and persevere.”  
“You are the follower.” I had intended for it to be a question, but it sounds entirely like a statement. Or an accusation.  
He pauses a moment, eyes not meeting mine. “I am.”  
Another long sigh. “Such is life.” My laugh is breathless and harsh, barely more than yet another sigh. “I know what we have agreed on, Loghain, but I want to tell you this; if I am the one who is closest to the Archdemon when the time comes, then I will end it. Without hesitation.”  
Our eyes meet and hold for a long moment, his expression hard and difficult to read, but he gives a nod, his eyes telling me that he understands. Stepping back, he eyes me for a moment, as though examining his handiwork.  
“You may consider a new suit of armour when this is done. Have you polished it even once?”  
I snort and shake my head. “Of course not. I have been a fugitive until recently, remember? I barely had time to sleep, let alone polish armour.”  
“You are a leader now, girl. You ought to look like one.”  
I frown at him. “Why must you call me that? ‘Girl’?”  
“Are you not one?”  
“I am twenty-five, Loghain. A grown woman, an adult. You say I am a leader, yet you treat me like a child. Do you not see how contradictory that is?”  
He smirks. “I do not think it contradictory at all. It is the truth.”  
Several mounted soldiers pass by atop their horses and I am drawn from my moment of normality quite abruptly.  
Loghain turns back towards his horse, grasping the reigns as it whinnies at those who passed by. “I will prepare your horse. We need to get moving.” He leaves me then, walking his horse through the rows of tents in the dull moonlight. I sigh and begin dismantling my tent and collecting my few belongings. I feel as though I am standing on the very edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but down. Though I am reluctant, I have no choice but to take that final step and face the unknown. The terrifying, likely fatal unknown.

We ride as though the horde is hot on our trail, pushing our horses to their limits and only pausing for rest when we must. Our group is made up of around fifty people: cavalry, mages, scouts, and archers. While we are too large to navigate the narrow shortcuts Loghain details, we are able to make significant progress. On the first day we have halved the distance to Denerim, with hopes that we may reach the city by sundown tomorrow.  
When night falls, we establish a camp by a small river. It is agreed that we will only rest for six hours and begin again before sunrise. Most of the soldiers scramble into their bedrolls to make the most of the time, with several taking on lookout duties. Loghain divides a handful of men into shifts and establishes lookout points that would best allow notice of any incoming danger.  
“I will take first watch,” he says as we crouch by the edge of the river, both relieved to be washing away a day’s worth of sweat and grime from our faces.  
I gasp at the coolness of the water as it runs down my neck and soaks my hair. Maker it feels wonderful.  
I nod. “Then I shall take the second.”  
Loghain shakes his head. “The Antivan has volunteered.”  
The look on my face must be one of complete bewilderment because Loghain smirks when he sees it.  
“Zevran actively sacrificing his beauty sleep? Maker, what has this world come to?”  
“I am certain stranger things have happened.”  
I snort. “Debatable. Just let me know if the ground opens up and swallows him. I will need to fill the position of sarcastic, lusty elf in my group, lest we begin to look like a normal bunch.”  
Loghain laughs, eyes moving to the stars above us. Somehow it feels as though that wall of mistrust and hate between us has crumbled a little. I felt it shift that last night in Redcliffe when I gifted him Maric’s sword. Since that moment he has opened up a little. Not so much with words, but more with his gestures, his expressions. He reminds me so often that we are not friends, but I wonder if we could have been, were things different and our impending deaths not guaranteed.  
Returning to the campfire, we seat ourselves on small logs of wood. Loghain busies himself with cleaning his breastplate that has gathered dust from the ride. I decide to sharpen my blades, knowing full well that they will be needed in the near future.  
As I run the whetstone along the edge of my blade, I think of Highever and my life from before. I think of the early morning sessions in the training yard with the knights and Fergus, the hours spent in darkness in the forest while hunting with my father. I think of climbing trees in dresses my mother begged me not to ruin, of running the battlements and swearing to the guards that I saw a dragon in the distance. I think of those weeks spent yearly in Denerim for the Landsmeet when Anora and I would play in the gardens and I would marvel at the sights of Loghain and King Maric, the heroes I had grown to admire. I think of having stared up at the paintings and statues of Queen Rowan, praying to the Maker that I could one day resemble her in courage, skill, and beauty. I think of all these things that have defined me, the things I have all but lost. The memories remain, but they are bittersweet, laced with so many emotions that some days I think I would rather have forgotten them.  
Looking up at Loghain from across the flickering fire, I watch him intently as he shifts his breastplate in his lap, working at the silverite with a cloth. His hand moves with skill, a familiarity with his armour formed over decades. Anora once told me that his armour was a trophy from the war, taken from a chevalier following the fight at the River Dane. It is a powerful sentiment. No wonder he takes such pride in it. It is his reminder of that moment when everything changed. That moment when he transformed from Loghain to the Hero of River Dane. From a farmer’s son to a teyrn.  
Lowering my eyes back to the blade in my hands I turn it over, eyeing the shape and material. These swords were gifts from Fergus. Compensation for having gone and married Oriana and left me the unwed, lonely younger sister. Once he was married there was little time for us to do the things we had always enjoyed doing. Hunting, sparring, horse riding, archery. All of it ceased the moment he bound himself to Oriana. While I had been happy for him, and proud beyond words, it had cut me deep. I lost my brother that day, for the most part. I lost that bond we had shared. I had gained a sister, and later a nephew, but I continued to mourn my brother for years. And now I mourn him entirely.  
I feel eyes on me then and I glance up to see Loghain watching me. His expression is unreadable, and he does not look away when my eyes meet his. There is something intense about his eyes that unsettles me a little and I find myself shifting in my seat. I swallow down my uneasiness and fumble for a way out. But then his eyes lower to his breastplate once more and suddenly I feel myself lost within a wave of undecipherable emotions.  
I clear my throat softly wondering what it is that I just witnessed.  
“I have never met another warrior who fights with two longswords.” Loghain’s voice startles me from my panicked thoughts. He glances at me briefly before continuing. “It seems impractical and yet you wield them effortlessly.”  
I nod. “I have worked hard to build strength and form. And these blades were specifically made to be lighter than traditional longswords. They are slightly curved too. See?” I hold one up for Loghain to examine.  
“Fascinating.” His tone is intrigued. “I have never seen such blades before.”  
“Fergus had them commissioned from Antiva. His wife Oriana was Antivan and he travelled there soon after they were married. They were compensation for Fergus abandoning me to be wed. We always swore we would remain single for life, too free spirited to be bound to another for eternity. Of course, we were children when we swore that oath. Adult minds and hearts are not so easily forsworn.”  
“What did your parents think of your skills?”  
I smile wryly. “Father was proud and often spectated my sparring matches. He even allowed me to enter several local tourneys. Mother was proud too, in her own way. Though if she had her way, I would have been married off at eighteen and producing children every other year.”  
“Ah.” Loghain smirks. “But that was not your ambition, I assume.”  
“Maker no!” I laugh. “I would have sooner thrown myself off the battlements than submit to that horror. No, I was determined to become a knight.”  
“Teyrn Cousland’s daughter a knight? Bryce would not have allowed that.”  
I sigh. “Indeed. For all his support and leniency, I knew he would never allow it. Though that did not stop me from dreaming about it. Every chance I had I picked up a sword or a bow and hurried off to practice.” I lift up my sword in front of me, grasping the hilt in a familiar and perfected way. “You once taught me how to hold a blade. It was during a Landsmeet many years ago. I was still only a child. Anora and I were set against Fergus and Nathaniel Howe, Cailan as our hostage. You stopped us in the corridor when you took a disliking to my posture. Anora claimed to be the Hero of River Dane, and I was Queen Rowan.”  
Loghain smirks. “Of course. Queen Rowan was quite the war maiden. I can see why you admired her. I have met none quite like her.” He eyes me a moment. “You are a talented warrior yourself. I admit I take a little pride in having had a small part to play in that.”  
I snort. “Hardly. Though, your advice is part of the reason why I pushed through my training. Fergus was determined to talk me down. Afraid to be bested by his little sister, I should think.”  
“And was he bested by her?”  
I chuckle and nod. “Indeed, his fears were merited. He may be stronger and larger than I, but I have speed and endurance. Big men tire too quickly, you see.”  
Loghain raises a curious eyebrow at me. “Is that so?”  
I smirk. “Well, most do. Despite your size and age, I am surprised you have the fortitude that you do. It is impressive.”  
Loghain snorts. “High praise from my superior, I suppose.”  
“It is praise from someone who looked up to you, legend or no.”  
My blatant admission seems to take him by surprise as he eyes me cautiously, as though trying to discern a lie. I find myself laughing softly and readjusting the blade as I continue to sharpen it.  
“Now, now, no need to be so shocked, Loghain Mac Tir. I doubt I was the only child in Ferelden who dreamed of becoming the Hero of River Dane. A commoner risen to teyrn. Is that not what all children dream of? To become a hero?”  
Loghain lowers his gaze to the breastplate in his lap. “Not all.”


	17. Hardly A Victory

I am pulled from my sleep by a gut wrenching feeling in my stomach, the sensation of having my innards pulled abruptly from my body and the very breath sucked from my lungs. The hum in my head is sharp, potent, vibrating in my skull like the sound of a drum.  
Nausea consumes me and I gasp desperately for air to replenish my stolen breath and to hold down what remains of my dinner.  
“Warden!” Loghain’s cry from outside my tent is one of desperation. The flap of my tent opens suddenly, and he glances over me as though to convince himself that I am unhurt.  
I frown up at him. “What is it?”  
“Hurlocks on the perimeter. They are coming from the forest.”  
I swallow down my panic and scramble out of my bedroll, paying no mind to the fact that I am wearing nothing more than a tunic. I quickly sweep up my trousers and begin shuffling into them.  
“How many?”  
“Dozens. I have sent men to hold them back, but we need to get over there.”  
I nod. “Go ahead, I will be right behind you.”  
Loghain hesitates, eyes on my body that is still very much lacking in armour.  
“That was an order, Loghain.”  
His frown hardens but he nods. “Of course, Warden.” And then he disappears.  
I wrestle with myself inside of my tent, struggling to equip my armour as quickly as humanly possible. When I am satisfied with my breastplate, I gather my blades and scramble from the tent.  
Outside is chaos. While the Hurlocks have not breached the campsite, the battlefield is closer than I had expected. Already I note two of our own soldiers downed either injured or dead.  
My jaw clenches and I sprint across the clearing to enter the fight, swords in hand and desperation fuelling my speed. This is the last thing we need. We are already too few and we cannot afford a delay such as this.  
The moonlight is dim but enough to make fighting possible. Loghain finds me amongst the fight and takes my back, ensuring that both of our blind spots are covered.  
“They keep coming!” Loghain’s voice is barely audible over the sounds of blades and slicing flesh.  
“We need to push them back! Quickly! We are wasting time!”  
Loghain grunts as he drives his sword through a hurlock’s torso, then kicks the body from the shaft in one powerful movement. “We are not an army on our own, Warden.”  
“No, but we need to be!”  
Zevran finds us then, cutting down two hurlocks to get to us. We form a triad and push our way through the darkspawn.  
The sun is beginning to rise by the time the flow of darkspawn depletes, and we are able to assess the losses.  
“Two dead, four injured.” Loghain’s report is disheartening, but thankfully not catastrophic.  
I nod, pouring water from a flask into my mouth and drinking desperately. The sun has mostly risen, and I have ordered us to move on. Those who are able have begun to pack up the camp.  
“We must leave them behind and hope the army finds them.”  
I wince at the harshness of his words, but what pains me more is the truth of them. He is right. We cannot take them with us.  
“See to it that the healers do what they can and leave them with rations and medicine.” My eyes meet Loghain’s sternly. “Thank you.”  
“Do not thank me, Warden. This is hardly a victory.”  
I sigh and nod. He leaves me then, hurrying off to see to what I ordered of him. My eyes lower to my hands, still covered in darkspawn blood and aching from a long battle. I notice a gash on my lower arm, covered mostly in my own dried blood. I poke it with a finger and wince at the sharp pain that shoots through my arm. I let out a long sigh and run a dirty hand through my mangled curls. Maker this is madness. I pray this ends soon.

Denerim appears on the horizon like a beacon of hope. We all breathe a small sigh of relief when we realize that the city remains untouched by the horde. As we pass through the city gates, we are met by signs of preparation. Anora’s scouts must have reached the palace. The streets are mostly deserted, shops and homes boarded up and others completely emptied. The capitol is a ghost town, vacant and dark, void of life. It is a sobering reality of what we are to face that has my heart sinking to my feet.  
Loghain and I dismount at the palace steps, servants emerging to take our horses. I hurry for the steps, glancing at Loghain over my shoulder as I go. The sun has set, and we are certain the vanguard of the horde will be upon us by tomorrow.  
“See to the preparations,” I call to him as I go. “Find Ser Cauthrien and the knights. We need to secure the gates and all other exits. Darkspawn will crawl through any space they can fit through. See to it that they cannot.”  
Loghain nods and I disappear into the palace without another word, hurrying towards the throne room as quickly as my feet can take me.

Alistair stands with his back to the door, staring at the throne he is soon to call his own. I move to stand behind him, my heart racing from the long, tiring journey and from the thought of facing the man I once called my lover.  
I swallow hard and bow deeply. I have not seen him since the Landsmeet and since he left my side to assume his role as king and to marry Anora. I had hoped that we might never see each other again, knowing full well how impossible that would be.  
“Your Majesty.”  
Alistair glances over his shoulder at me, his face unreadable. It is an unnerving sight that sends a shiver down my spine. Those eyes, those cheekbones, those lips. They are so familiar to me, yet it feels as though they now belong to a stranger. One that I am certain will never forgive me for what I have done to him.  
“You made it here faster than I thought.” His tone is vacant, emotionless. It is a voice that I do not recognize at all. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that. You have always been one to get the job done.”  
His words and tone wound me, but I swallow away the pain and hold my head high, shoulders squared to endure whatever he has to throw at me. Now is not the time for personal feelings to complicate things. We are to face down an entire army of darkspawn.  
“We encountered stragglers from the main horde this morning and several small groups not far from the city. We believe the horde will be upon us within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”  
“We? I suppose you mean yourself and the traitor.”  
My jaw clenches, frustration replacing my guilt. “Loghain, yes. He rode with me. As did Zevran and Leliana. I chose those who could ride the fastest.”  
Alistair snorts then turns to face me fully, his usually kind and caring eyes narrowed and full of ice. “As practical as ever.” He eyes me from head to toe, not bothering to hide his scrutiny. “I suppose you have plans for how we handle the situation?”  
I nod. “I do. Loghain has taken them directly to Ser Cauthrien as we speak.”  
He scoffs, eyes lowering to the floor. “I see. Well then, Warden. I leave the city in your hands. Maker watch over us.”  
I bow again and turn on my heel, relieved to be away from Alistair, but dreading what I am returning to. We are at the end. This is it, the final battle. This is where fate decides the victors and we either win or we all die.  
As I descend the palace steps and gather my horse, my companions eyeing me with worried frowns, I feel as though the world is crumbling around me. It is as though the city has already burned to the ground and I am refusing to acknowledge it.  
When Loghain appears and mounts his own horse, his blue eyes meet mine through the darkness, a look of knowing held within them. He sees it too. He feels it. We both know we will not survive this.


	18. I Will Do It

Arl Eamon’s estate serves as the centre of most of the planning, and as a meeting place for the soldiers and officers sent from the palace to aid in the defence of Denerim. Loghain, Ser Cauthrien and I dive headlong into establishing everything down to the smallest detail for what is to come and cross our fingers that the army arrives before the horde does.  
It is well past midnight when Loghain demands that I get some rest and despite my weak attempts to refuse, I find myself alone in the same chamber I had stayed in prior to leaving for Redcliffe. I remove my armour and soak in a warm bath, fighting sleep as the heat of the water embraces me, drawing me in.  
Eventually I drag myself from the bath and pat myself dry before pulling on a clean tunic. I am about to blow out the candles and crawl into bed when there is a soft knock at my door. Pulling it open I am greeted by a familiar face that I had not expected to see.  
“Morrigan?” I blink several times as though ensuring that I am not hallucinating. “What are you doing here? How did you…? I thought you were with the army.”  
Her beautiful face twists with a haunting smile that unsettles me. There is a look in her eyes that I do not think I like.  
“There is something I must discuss with you, Rhiannon. It is most important, and I think you will want to hear what I have to say.”  
I hesitate a moment, confused and apprehensive. I have known Morrigan longer than any of my current companions and I have considered us friends for much of that time. But the dark shroud that swirls around her now has my skin crawling and the fear rising in my chest. Whatever it is she has to tell me; I am certain it is nothing good.

Silence. Loud, poisonous, unsettling silence. I stare down at the flickering flames in the hearth, my heart in my throat and my mind lost in the depths of the Void. Morrigan’s words swirl around me, piercing me like daggers over and over. Sometimes they merely nick my skin, other times they leave gaping gashes.  
I swallow down the nauseous feeling that churns my stomach and wrap my arms around me to fight back yet another shudder. It is not cold where I stand, but the reality of what Morrigan proposes feels like a blanket of ice has been thrown over me, smothering me and leaving my usually strong skin brittle.  
“Rhiannon?” Morrigan’s voice feels so out of place. It feels like a stranger’s voice and it feels further away than it actually is, despite her being seated on the edge of the bed mere feet away from me.  
The flames are hypnotizing. They dance and coil around themselves, flowing endlessly and without restraint. I close my eyes and imagine myself back in the party camp months ago when all of this seemed so distant, so unimaginable. Back when Alistair held me in his arms and kissed me softly, his breath on my neck.  
A long sigh flows from me, those memories fading back to the corners of my mind, locking themselves away out of my reach.  
“So, this was your plan all along? Why Flemeth sent you with us?”  
“I-” She hesitates, then sighs. “Yes.”  
I scoff, eyes opening as I turn to face her. “I thought we were friends.”  
Desperation fills her eyes, and she rises to her feet. “We are friends, Rhiannon. I mean it when I say that I have never felt for someone the way I do for you. You are like a sister to me.”  
I bite my lip, wrapping my arms around me tighter, tears threatening in the corners of my eyes. “I wish I believed you, Morrigan.”  
Her eyes are filled with such sadness, but I can see by the strength within them that she does not regret what she has done. This was her purpose. She intends to get what she came for.  
Morrigan sighs and straightens her back, her face smoothing over as it does when she pushes her feelings aside. “Regardless, what I offer you is survival. For you and your fellow warden. What you do with this proposition is your decision.”  
Covering my face with both my hands I fight back the urge to scream and burst into tears. So many emotions threaten to break me. Betrayal, guilt, dread, frustration, grief, defeat. I feel as though I am about to crumble into a pile of dust, and for a moment I pray that I might. I never wanted any of this. Maker knows I am not brave enough for it. I am not strong enough. Of all the ridiculous things, I find myself wishing that I were married to a stranger and the mother of a litter of children, living a domesticated and uncomplicated life in a castle somewhere. But that fantasy exists only in a world where there is no Blight and no need for me to be a Grey Warden. In that world Highever never fell to Howe and my family is still alive. Little Oren is not so little anymore, and Fergus teaches him how to use a sword.  
Tears escape despite my best efforts to hold them back. I know I ought to let them flow, let all of this chaos out. But that is not who I am. Rhiannon Cousland does not cry. Rhiannon Cousland is better than that. She is the daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. She dreams of becoming a powerful war maiden and a hero to Ferelden. Rhiannon Cousland definitely does not cry. Especially not in front of someone like Morrigan.  
I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand and swallow what remains of my anguish. Crying will not end this Blight. But Morrigan’s ritual just might.  
I clench my jaw and turn to face the witch who is watching me with her sharp gaze. “I will discuss it with him.” My gaze breaks free of hers, unable to hold onto it any longer. “But the decision is his and his alone.” Pulling on a pair of trousers, I make for the door, but hesitate with my hand on the handle. I glance back at her over my shoulder, still not meeting her gaze. “Regardless of what he chooses, I want you out of Denerim the moment the battle is over.”  
Morrigan nods once. “You will not see me again, Warden.”  
Weaving through the corridors of the estate, my world spins in a blur of chaos. Servants and soldiers still move about busily and I know that I ought to be in bed. Part of me wants to turn on my heel and march back to my chamber. It wants to curl up in my blankets and forget Morrigan’s ridiculous ritual. But a larger, more practical part of me knows that what she offers is too important. If there is a chance for survival, then I would be foolish to ignore it.  
“To waste talents is to disadvantage yourself. You have made resources from what you were given. A lesser fool would have given into spite and chosen the path of greater difficulty.” Loghain’s words from what feels like a lifetime ago play through my mind as I approach the door to the office where we had been endlessly planning and debating the city’s defence only an hour ago.  
I hesitate in the doorway, Loghain standing at the desk reading through a collection of reports. He has changed out of his armour and wears only a shirt over trousers. There is something vulnerable about him as he stands there, unaware of my presence for the briefest moment. No armour, no hard frown. He looks so much like the Hero of River Dane and yet nothing like him.  
Loghain’s eyes meet mine and his neutral expression turns apprehensive. “You are supposed to be sleeping.” It is meant as an accusation, but his tone is surprisingly gentle.  
I swallow hard. “I need to talk to you about something. And you are not going to like it.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my back and head resting against the closed door of the office. Loghain is there, his frown deep. I had expected him to cut me off mid explanation, to wave his hand and turn on me for even having entertained the idea at all. I had expected him to possibly barge from the room and wring Morrigan’s neck himself. But he has done none of those things. Instead he listened in silence, his expression calm. And when my words trailed off into confused ramblings, he had simply turned to the hearth and remains fixated on the flames within.  
“Then this is what you would order of me?” His voice is low, gentle. His words flow through the room smoothly, as though he has put much thought into them.  
I shake my head once. “No.”  
“No?” He turns to me then, confusion darkening his brow.  
“I cannot order you to do this. Nor could I even ask it. Not as your fellow Warden or as your senior commander. I will not.”  
Loghain sighs, eyes holding firmly onto mine. “You are not the type to allow sentiment to get in the way of pragmatism.”  
I give a shrug, my mind still filled with a thick fog, my heart tearing itself apart in my chest. “Perhaps not, but this is not some simple thing, Loghain. This is the unknown. This is something unnatural and beyond our understanding. I will not lie and say that I am not deeply unsettled by all of this.”  
“Do you trust her? The swamp witch?”  
“I…yes. I think so.”  
“You think so?”  
I sigh, eyes closing briefly as I try to clear my head and untangle these knots in my stomach. “Morrigan has always been unsettling in both presence and personality, but she has proven loyal. And a friend, in whatever capacity that means. But she has admitted fully to this having been her plan all along. The reason why Flemeth had her join me at all. Wherever Flemeth is involved makes me uneasy.”  
Loghain is silent a moment, his frown deep and his mind working to process all I have said.  
“I will do it.”  
“What?” I must have heard that wrong. Never had I imagined Loghain would agree to the ritual. I had fully expected him to call me a ‘foolish girl’ as he always does.  
He runs a large hand through his hair. “I will not pretend that the very idea does not disgust me beyond measure, but if you believe this is our only option, then so be it. I would rather die, frankly, but there is truth in what you say. Two Wardens to rebuild is far more advantageous than one. Despite my growing weariness of this life, I can be of greater use to you alive. I will do it.”  
“Loghain, I-”  
He holds up a hand to silence me, then takes several steps to stand before me, no more than an arm’s length between us. “Take me to her.”  
I hold his eyes, searching their depths for any sign of doubt, but I find none. He is completely serious. I turn my head away, guilt consuming me, and I nod. I know that this is the only way for us to have a chance of surviving this battle. And yet it feels more to me like a sin. As though I am defying fate and playing with a fire that may well consume me somewhere in the future.  
Retracing the corridors towards my chamber, Loghain following silently behind me, I fight back tears. I feel as though this ritual is taking something from me too. A piece of my soul, a piece of what makes me good, what makes me Rhiannon Cousland.


	19. He Is A Grey Warden

Sleep claims me somewhere amongst my tears and anguish, and for the first time in too long I am without nightmares. It is as though the Archdemon offers respite on what is likely my last night alive and that alone unsettles me more than anything else.  
Overnight the vanguard of our army arrived ahead of the main force, detailing some resistance close to Denerim. The horde remains unseen, but there are increasing reports of darkspawn in the surrounding areas.  
Ser Cauthrien and Loghain meet me in the foyer of the estate, each of us donning our armour and weapons in full preparation for battle. I find myself watching Loghain as he and Cauthrien discuss the defence of the alienage. I have not seen him since he and Morrigan departed my chamber. I do not know what came of any of it, but I dare not ask him. I am certain he would not wish to discuss it, and neither would I. Regardless, it is done. And I would be more than happy to never think on it again.  
Outside in the courtyard, those of my companions I brought with me are gathered, as well as Shale and Morrigan. When I pass by the latter, I feel my stomach churn and I find myself unable to even look at her. Whatever sisterhood we had shared has washed away completely and I feel nothing but loathing when I think of her.  
Denerim is as vacant as it had been the night before with barely any signs of life within the city walls save for the soldiers and guards who patrol the streets. Cauthrien reports that we have roughly three hundred to defend the city until the bulk of the army arrives. While those numbers are ridiculously small considering the foes we face, it is far more than the city would have had should we have not hurried here as we did. Three hundred soldiers and two Grey Wardens. It is far from ideal, but it is something.  
When we arrive at the palace, we are met by the nobility who have decided to remain in the city, and a heavily clad Alistair who looks every part the regal monarch in his silverite armour and wide pauldron.  
As discussions and planning ensue, I find myself frowning at Alistair who notices my scrutiny. I expect a rebuke of some kind, but instead his eyes soften, if only the smallest bit.  
“You’re not worrying about me, are you?” There is the faintest resemblance to his playful tone that I know so well.  
I swallow down the lump in my throat and give a shrug, pretending to be listening to what the lords are debating. “You are to be king, Alistair. I would prefer it if you were not on the front lines.”  
“All the more reason for me to be.” His eyes narrow, his disdain for me returning with each passing second. “If we lose, there will be no need for a king at all.”  
I hold back a sigh. He is right, of course. We need all the help we can get.

By midday the sky has darkened considerably as thick, black clouds form overhead. Thunder rumbles in the distance as we stand atop the battlements, eyes on the horizon. The scouts sent to monitor the horde returned to Denerim less than an hour ago, alerting us that the vanguard is upon us. Loghain and I hurried to the main gate and now watch as the first of the darkspawn appear in the distance.  
I let out a long, shaken breath, my hands tightening around the hilts of my swords where they are sheathed on my hips. Another loud rumble of thunder shudders through the air around us and pray to the Maker that by some miracle the rain does not fall on Denerim.  
“You have done all you could, Warden. Do not doubt yourself.”  
I turn my head to find Loghain’s eyes on the approaching darkspawn, but he glances over at me a moment, the smallest of smiles on his lips.  
“I saw the army at Redcliffe. It is a formidable force. One you assembled against all odds, with myself and the darkspawn on your heels. It is impressive to say the least.”  
Turning my attention back to the horizon, I realize how rapidly my heart is beating and the sweat that has begun to coat my palms.  
“It will mean nothing if the army does not reach the city soon.”  
Loghain nods. “Yes, but the reports from the vanguard suggest that it should arrive before nightfall. They have made considerable ground. That too is impressive.”  
My eyes glance towards the west where the army still marches towards us from well beyond what we can see. I pray that those reports are correct and that our messengers to Anora reach her in time.  
I think of the night before, of Morrigan and of the ritual. We are moments away from a fight for our lives and I need to know if there is a chance to survive this.  
“Loghain, about the ritual-”  
“I did what the witch asked of me.” His eyes meet mine, stern and promising something I do not understand. “That is all you need to know.”  
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, preparing for battle. “Thank you, Loghain,” I say without really thinking about my words before I say them. “Truly. For what it is worth, I am glad that you are here. Your guidance has been invaluable.”  
Loghain smirks. “Now that is not something I expected to hear.” His eyes hold mine. “We have a war to win. I am at your disposal, Warden.”

The Maker does not hear my prayers. Rain saturates the city, rivers of blood and water flowing through the streets of Denerim as hours of desperation turn into a lifetime. For some time, we held the darkspawn back at the gate, but with so few to guard every entrance and sewer, it was inevitable that they would breach the city. And so, they did, crawling through even the smallest of spaces to find a way inside.  
With the gates still holding against the vanguard, I lead a group of soldiers through the streets, searching for survivors and clearing out any darkspawn that we encounter. Soaked in rain and blood, I can barely see beyond a few feet in front of me as the rainfall continues to blanket the entire city.  
For every street and alleyway that we clear, there are a dozen more. It is a never-ending battle and each soldier I lose feels like a dagger through the heart. Each is afforded barely a glance in gratitude before we move onto the next street, and I feel a small part of me being left behind with each of their mangled bodies.  
Alistair fights in the city, leading his own group of men and women, armed and bloodied just as we are. We pass each other now and then, each time less able to recognize the other for the poor state that we are in. If it were not for his armour, I would think of him as just another poor soul fighting this desperate and losing battle.  
“Maker tell me we have just about killed them all,” Alistair gasps as he doubles over, hands on his knees to stop him from crumbling to the cobblestone beneath our feet.  
If I were not so breathless and so heartbroken, I might have laughed at his typical attempt at humour, but it is lost on me in the moment. We both know full well that we have barely touched the surface of the army, the bulk of which remains held outside the gates and far beyond with the Archdemon that has yet to show itself.  
Alistair heaves a groan and straightens, retrieving his sword from the nearby crate where he placed it. “This is insanity.”  
I wipe a hand down my face in an attempt to clear my vision somewhat and nod my agreement. “That it is.”  
The sound of hooves on cobblestone draws our attention and two mounted soldiers pull their horses to a halt before us.  
“Loghain sends word, Warden.”  
Beside me Alistair noticeably recoils at the name of the man he would gladly kill with his own hands.  
“The alienage is under siege. Hurlocks, genlocks, emissaries. There’s an ogre at the gate.”  
Now it is my turn to drop my hands to my knees, the weight of this news weighing heavily on my shoulders. I had sent Loghain to defend the weakest gate while Cauthrien held the main. It was a difficult decision, but it would seem as though it was the right one. Loghain is the best fighter I have.  
“Does he need reinforcements?” I shout back to the soldier over a rumble of thunder and the restless hooves of the horses.  
“No, my lady. But he suggested closing off the inner gate as a precaution.”  
I scoff loudly, caught between fury and frustration. “The hell we will!”  
Alistair is by my ear then. “Whatever I think of that traitor, he knows what he is talking about. If he thinks we should bar the gate, then that is what we should do.”  
“No.” I straighten and meet his eyes sternly. “If we do that then we cut off some of our best soldiers.”  
“We do not have enough men to reinforce them, Rhiannon. We do not have a choice. If that gate falls it as good as opening the main gate and inviting the horde inside.”  
“And what of the elves? You would trap them in there with the darkspawn?”  
“Rhi, those who can have already fled, I am certain.” Alistair’s expression matches the sympathetic and pleading tone of his voice. There is a warmth in those eyes that reaches my heart, reaches into the depths of the past to when he swore to never leave my side.  
I swallow against the urge to retch and turn to the soldier who has remained silent, listening to what he can hear of our debate and trying desperately to keep his horse from acting up.  
“Do it, soldier. But tell Loghain to get his arse out of there! He is a Grey Warden and I need him for the Archdemon. Tell him that is an order.”  
The soldier hesitates, no doubt fearing what Loghain may have to say in response to those orders, but he nods, and he and his companion turn their horses, disappearing into the heavy rain the same way they came.  
Alistair meets my gaze, his eyes telling me without words that I have made the right decision and that he is sorry. And then he is gone, hurrying down the street with his men on his tail.


	20. Your Life Is Mine, Loghain Mac Tir

I wince at the pain that shoots through my arm as I sheath my swords and hurry up the stairs and onto the battlements. A gash on my arm is freshly bandaged but still stings despite the poultice I lathered onto it.  
As I reach the top of the stairs I am met by Cauthrien who looks every bit as exhausted and broken as I feel, her eyes speaking of the horrible things she has witnessed since we last saw one another hours ago.  
From where we stand, we have a view of the main gate, but it is narrow and through the darkness formed by the black clouds overhead and the endless rain, the small view might as well be none at all.  
“The alienage has been breached,” Cauthrien reports, her face twisting subconsciously as she says the words. “The south-east of the city is overrun by darkspawn.”  
“Loghain?”  
“I have not seen him.”  
My jaw clenches and I cast a glance back over the city, praying that he was not stupid enough to disobey me. Then as though to answer my pleas, a familiar set of broad shoulders and black hair appears from the stairs that I had come from, blue eyes meeting mine.  
Audible sighs of relief flow from both Cauthrien and I that have Loghain eyeing us both with a frown.  
“The ogre has been dealt with, but the alienage is lost.” His tone is sombre but as level as if he were merely commenting on the weather.  
“That is something, at least,” Cauthrien replies, her tone equally as matter of fact.  
I meet Loghain’s eyes again, frowning heavily. “I was beginning to think you had disobeyed me.”  
He snorts. “Believe me, I considered it.”  
My frown lessons. “I am relieved that you didn’t.”  
There is a softness in his expression for a moment, his blue eyes seeming to apologize for something neither of us can understand.  
A distant horn sounds, echoing through the air that is thick with rain and the smell of damp and blood. It pulls us from our pause, and we hurry up the next set of stairs to the outer wall. In the distance there is a large shadow appearing from the west, barely visible through the rain and darkness, but there is little doubt that it is the army we have been desperately awaiting.  
“Sweet Maker, finally!” My words are barely more than a whisper.  
But the relief is short lived. As though to answer our blessings with fear, a loud roar sounds from the south and immediately my heart sinks to the stone beneath my feet. Beside me Loghain stiffens, his eyes meeting mine. We can both feel it within our blood. The Archdemon is near.

Fort Drakon. That is where Riordan told us to go. Behind me Loghain and the rest of my companions follow me like shadows, each of us as silent as the next, breathing heavily and trying not to think about how badly our bodies ache and how our hearts feel like voids in our chests.  
The only sounds that can be heard in the darkness are those of our footsteps and gasping breathes, though I am certain my heart is pounding loud enough that at least Loghain must be able to hear it.  
Riordan is dead. The thought keeps pounding through my head. He had tried to make the final blow and it had failed. Riordan is dead and so the Archdemon falls to Loghain and I.  
Reaching the top of Fort Drakon is like stepping out of Thedas and into another world entirely. Darkspawn and soldiers battle furiously against one another, desperate to destroy the other. And right in the heart of it all is the Archdemon itself, partially wounded from Riordan’s fruitless attack, and sweeping away lines of my own soldiers effortlessly, tossing them into the air and others over the sides of the fort.  
Loghain is beside me, I can hear his heavy breathing that matches mine. There is a darkness in his eyes that twists my stomach into knots. A ferocity that tells me that he is prepared to do what must be done. He is prepared to die.  
I glance around at the faces of my companions, meeting their eyes a final time before we are to face this evil once and for all. I am met by forced smiles, looks of despair and others with tears in their eyes. This is it. This is where it ends. One way or another. This is it.

Everything blurs. Time, my vision, my thoughts, the swings of my blades. The pain that consumes my body, the ache of my heart. The fears that threaten to suffocate me and the tears that beg to be released but that are defenceless against my resolve.  
I move as though guided by instinct alone. Around me my companions lend their lives to support me, giving everything that they have to see me safely to my goal. But despite their best efforts, the battle twists and turns, changing shape constantly and whatever rhythm we manage to find is destroyed relentlessly, drawing us further apart.  
Loghain is the only one who does not leave my side, no matter how difficult the obstacles become. He is glued to me like a shadow, my second set of eyes and arms. It is during a fleeting moment as we take down yet another ogre that I realize just how flawlessly we fit together. I had always thought Alistair to be my perfect half when it came to fighting, but Loghain is something else entirely. He can read me as well as I can read him. It is effortless. We just simply know.  
As we bear down on the Archdemon, we exchange a knowing glance. With the dragon’s head turning towards us, it’s tail out of range, we know that now is our chance. And so we charge.  
Time seems to slow down in that moment, as though the world itself is holding its breath. We push ourselves forward, our hearts resolute.  
The Archdemon sees us then, its eyes meeting mine and for a moment I can feel it in my head, speaking to me, reaching out and touching my mind as though it had hands to do so. It is a sickening feeling, accompanied by waves of fear and hate. I cannot decipher whether those are my own emotions, or whether they come from the dragon itself.  
The Archdemon turns, an enormous tail suddenly drawing close. Loghain and I dive in opposite directions to escape being thrown aside like so many of our soldiers have been.  
I hit the stone with a loud groan and for a moment I cannot breathe. The world around me spins and I struggle to find my feet. I reach for the sword I dropped when I fell, desperate to stand and to face the dragon once again. When I find my feet, I draw in a long breath, eyes on the beast as it turns towards me. I do not know where Loghain fell, I did not see. But it does not matter to me right now. What matters is that this Archdemon dies.  
“Warden!” Loghain’s bellowing voice startles me, and when my eyes find his, they are wide and vacant. For a moment I wonder why he is just standing there, completely still as if frozen in place. But then I see the blood as it begins to flow from his body, and it is as though I have been struck by lightning. It is obvious by the way that he stands, his body spread wide, that he has protected me from a blow that I had not seen coming.  
Loghain crumbles to the ground in a massive heap of man, silverite and blood. I reach for him but the growl that escapes his lips tells me to keep going.  
With tears stinging my eyes, I scramble to my feet, eyes moving from my wounded companion to the Archdemon that has turned to face an onslaught from a ballista.  
My breath catches in my throat. This is my chance!  
I charge, swords by my sides, my bruised and shaken legs carrying me as skilfully and swiftly as they can. The dragon turns it head, its dark eyes challenging me. But it is too large, and I am too desperate. Throwing myself under it’s body in a move that Loghain would surely call reckless, I find myself within reach of the tender weakness of it’s stomach and neck. With blades held firmly and my teeth grinding together in determination, I plunge the blades into the flesh as far as they will go, carving the beast with all my strength and marvelling at the shriek it gives.  
A leg kicks out as the Archdemon moves to the side, the solid extremity colliding with me and sending me flying several meters away. But I am so close. No matter the broken ribs that I can feel scraping at my lungs with every breath, no matter the gashes and bruises, the blood and the dirt. None of it matters. Instead I rise to my feet again, swords held firmly in my blood-soaked hands, and I charge one final time. This time I do not bother to think of any fancy moves, any tricks or even a way out. This is the moment I have prepared for, the moment that Riordan and Loghain had thought to take from me. But it is my moment, just as it should be. If anyone is to die to end this Blight, it has to be me. Regardless of whether Morrigan’s ritual works or not, this Archdemon is mine.

All around me is a bright light, glaring and deafening, as though light and sound have somehow become one. I cry out against it, desperate to cover my ears and squeezing my eyes closed, but my hands remain on the hilt of my sword as though letting go will surely kill me.  
Everything hurts, everything burns. It is as though my skin is on fire, my bones turning to dust within my body. But I hold on. I dare not let go.  
And then it is gone with a thunderous roar and I am released. I fall backwards, my back meeting the stone, my ears ringing and heart in my throat. The world spins and dips and I think I must be dying. The Archdemon lies by my feet, lifeless and unmoving. I think that Morrigan’s ritual did not work after all.  
But when my ears begin to trace sounds of life around me, and I am still alive and alert enough to hear them, I realize that Morrigan had told the truth. I have slain the Archdemon, and I yet live.  
Loghain.  
I sit upwards so quickly that the world tumbles backwards yet again and I feel my insides threatening to come up my throat. I swallow against the feeling and try to find my feet.  
Scanning the battleground through the countless bodies of both allies and darkspawn, I make out the mangled figure in silverite armour and scramble through the debris and dead to reach him.  
Standing over him my gaze moves from his closed eyes to the gaping wound in his torso. I did not see what caused the injury, but it is not a wound made by a sword, that is certain.  
His eyes flicker open then, barely noticeable beneath his mess of black hair that covers his face. “W-Warden.”  
Anger rises within me, fuelling my anguish at seeing him in such a state. That wound is deep and the bleeding immense. If he had not opened his eyes, I would have thought him already dead.  
“And you say I am reckless! What the hell was that?”  
Loghain grunts, his smirk barely more than a sneer of pain. “It was me saving your life.” He winces as his hand holds back a flow of blood. “And you are reckless. You looked as though you were prepared to throw your life away for nothing. Bloody foolish girl.”  
I kneel down beside him, searching his body for any other wounds and then reaching to replace his hands with mine. “You are one to talk. And stop calling me that!”  
His hands fall away from his gaping wound, allowing me to take over. “Then stop acting like one.” He groans again, a long, dull sound that tells me that his consciousness is fading.  
My head snaps up and I search the area around us frantically. “Wynne? Wynne! I need you!”  
Loghain snorts, his eyes closing. “Your mage would rather see me die.”  
I frown down at him. “Well I would rather not! Your life is mine, Loghain Mac Tir. Don’t you dare waste it.”  
A small laugh that sounds more like a sigh. “As you say, Warden.” And then he is gone, swallowed up by exhaustion and the loss of blood. My heart threatens to leap from my throat.  
“Wynne! Damn it! Get over here now!” I lean closer to Loghain, fear and desperation threatening tears. “Come on, you stubborn old fool. If you die, I will never forgive you.”


	21. Epilogue

The Hero of Ferelden. That is what Leliana tells me the people have begun to call me. No doubt a title Anora thought up for me somewhere in the chaos of the past week. Each and every time I hear it, I find myself smirking and cringing a little, not because it does not fill me with pride, but rather it seems like half a lie. I do not feel like a hero. I feel like a foolish girl, just like Loghain tells me that I am. A foolish girl who somehow managed to stop a Blight. Perhaps it was by whim, or perhaps it is a victory won on the shoulders of the incredible people who had my back, who followed me through the darkness and who fought for me on the streets of Denerim and at Fort Drakon. To me, that is the truth behind the title and the truth behind the story itself.  
Leliana tells me that they will sing songs of me, and that my name will be remembered just like all those heroes that came before me. The dreams from a silly young noble girl’s childhood come to life. I am who I had hoped to be.  
But why does it not feel as I imagined? Why do I feel so normal? So human.  
Loghain is in my head then, scoffing and asking me rhetorical questions to make me find the answers. He tells me I am naïve, and that my head is filled with too many fairy tales. And yet, there is a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes that tells me that perhaps he has known this uncertainty too.  
“Is that not what all children dream of? To become a hero?” I ask him in my memories.  
“Not all,” he replies, a distant understanding in his blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Book #2.....
> 
> If you enjoyed this please let me know in the comments!! I love feedback and would love to hear from you!! Thanks so much for reading!!


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